


Sententia

by Anchanee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Dementor's Kiss, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forced Servitude, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Redemption, Sexual Harassment, Unethical Arrangements, comatose character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 160,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anchanee/pseuds/Anchanee
Summary: Lucius is out of luck in Azkaban, and Draco and Narcissa are struggling while under house arrest. So Draco seeks help from the one person who has the sliver of a chance to change his family's fate. The blond's offer in return: his life, his service, his dignity, because what are they worth in the face of his parents' extinction?And Harry? He struggles every day to make their world a safer place. Fighting as an auror to catch the dark wizards, who did not get the memo that there is no Dark Lord any longer.Can a reluctant Death Eater and the Saviour of the Wizarding World find a way into a better future, or are light and dark too different ever to work together?If you ask Ron, he would tell you, "Not a chance, mate."If you ask Hermione, you might get a different answer. Most likely one related to a book.But if you ask Harry, he has already met a Slytherin willing to sacrifice his life, for him to win; and a Griffyndor who has served his friends up for slaughter. Nothing is ever as simple as light and dark, so he might as well try.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I wrote for NaNoWriMo 2017. It's already 61.000+ words long, but far from finished. Feedback is always appreciated. Appart from that: have fun!  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sententia, sententiae  
> noun
> 
> gender: feminine
> 
> Definitions:  
> 1\. opinion, feeling, way of thinking  
> 2\. purpose  
> 3\. thought, meaning, sentence/period

Another curse flew by and had Harry not been occupied with dodging it; he would have rolled his eyes. Hard! Why was every Death Eater on the planet so bloody convinced that he would succeed where Voldemort had failed, dishing out killing curses as if they were candy? It seemed that, since the chosen one had joined the Auror Squad, the number of Dark Lord followers, doubled every other week. No matter how many they captured, more seemed to be just around the corner.

“Stupefy!”

“Expelliarmus!”

‘Thank god for a competent partner,’ Harry thought as he watched the ringleader hit the floor, his wand snatched out of the air by his colleague and friend. He had gone through half a dozen partners after joining the Aurors. All competent people, no doubt, relishing in the honour of working side-by-side with the 'Boy Who Lived'. He could do no wrong in their eyes. But, either he worked his ass off, or they did, despite him earning all the glory. None of them had been feast able overall. Oh, they had had his back, the Ministry did not employ fools, but none of them had called him out on it when he had done something stupid. Not like,

“Harry James Potter, are you completely out of your mind, rushing by me like that, following this scum alone, without backup? If you do that again, I’ll hex your ass six ways to Sunday! Are we clear?”

He tried to avoid the stabs against his chest, with the Death Eater’s wand, adopting an innocent expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mister Longbottom. I was just following a suspect.”

“Harry!” Neville groaned, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. “Why are you doing this to me? It’s like you have a death-wish. I know you killed You-Know- … Voldemort, but that doesn’t make you invincible!”

Turning away with a shrug, the raven-haired auror bound their latest suspects with a flicker of his wand. But one of Neville’s most outstanding qualities was his patience. Had to be when his greatest joy was growing things. So, Harry knew this discussion was far from over.

\--O-O--

When they were back at the Ministry, after having given their reports, Neville reached for his spray-bottle and approached the overgrown wall that dominated their office. Harry could not even name all the different greens and tiny pedalled flowers, that created the serene picture his partner had planted. Still, he was glad to have something in the room that made Neville so obviously happy. Maybe it would gain him a prolonged reprieve. His hope, however, turned out to be in vain when said partner sighed and stated quietly. “You think I don’t get it, but I do!”

With everybody else, Harry would have dismissed these words as an empty phrase, but this was Neville. The young man had been there, in the eye of the storm, for seventh year. Doing his best to keep himself and those around him safe. While Ron, Hermione and he had fought and hunted Horcrux, Neville had led the resistance at Hogwarts, a place he had considered his home for six years. Harry had been so proud of his fellow Gryffindor, despite his heartbreaking, when he had heard of all the horrors they had faced.  So yes, Neville got it, had fought in the war facing torture and death as much as Harry had. Therefore, it was impossible to dismiss his opinion, no matter how little the raven-haired wanted to discuss the topic.

“I know you do.”

Whipping around, banging his bottle on Harry’s desk, spraying the surface in the process, Neville accused him, “Then why do you act like you’re alone out there? I know that I am not Ron or Hermione, but I thought you trusted me! You accepted me as your partner, so I thought … I thought you trusted me …” He repeated dejectedly, voice growing softer with every word.

Suddenly, Harry caught a glimpse of the lonely, scared Gryffindor first year his partner had been once upon a time. And that was the last thing he wanted. Neville had been through so much, had come such a long way from the boy who had trembled before Snape. Who had hidden in the greenhouses, when the teasing had gotten too much. He was competent, skilled and despite his suffering still a good person at heart. He was …

“You are the only one I’m able to trust around here. All the others are either overzealous or to deferent to be any good. You at least call me out on my shit.”

“Then why?”

“I … I don’t know.”

Closing his eyes, Neville suppressed another sigh, shaking his head. “Yes, you do, but it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. Just please, please, do not force me to watch you getting tortured or killed. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

“I’ll try my best.” What else could Harry say anyway? His partner’s … his friend’s request was not unreasonable. They both had seen enough people getting hurt to last a lifetime. “I will try to do better next time.” That was the best he could promise, and both knew. This promise would hold for the next raid, maybe the one after, but then they would be back here. Harry sometimes wondered how long it would take Neville to give up and request a different partner. He deserved better, was a brilliant Auror, doing his partners proud. Harry did not want to lose him since he was the only one who understood that stunning and disarming your opponents was enough most of the time. Oh, Neville could use hexes and curses even more skilfully than any other auror. But, as his friend had shared, he had seen enough people suffer and never added to their number needlessly. Most importantly, he treated their work as just that: a job, a responsibility, not as a personal vendetta against every marked person out there.

“You’re the best partner I have had since joining the office.”

“I know,” Neville chuckled. “Robarts gave me the reports about your last partners when I requested to be paired with you. They were all …”

“… idiots, the lot of them.” Relieved that his friend had relaxed, Harry mirrored his smile.

“We can do this, Harry.” The brown-haired wizard promised. “We can get rid of all the Death Eater scum, so nobody has to be afraid anymore. But I need you to work with me, not beside me. Neither of us can do this alone.”

“You won’t have to,” Harry vowed, hugging his friend.

\--O-O--

Hermione worked for the Department of Magical Law. Ron had taken his brother’s place at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, even before finishing his seventh year. He had, once again, become exactly what was needed, filling the hole – at least a tiny bit – Fred’s death had left in his brother’s life. So, cleaning up after the war fell to Harry – the boy who lived – and Neville – the boy who could have been the chosen one, had Tom made a different decision that fateful night. Both were glad that their friends were safe and would do their best to keep it that way.

With a crooked smile, his partner nudged him towards the door. “Why don’t you leave early for once? I’ll wait for the confirmation of the reports, file them and lock up.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

Harry’s face lit up when he reached for his robes. “Great. Ron wanted to show me a new fudge. Maybe I’ll catch him before they close.”

Chuckling, Neville warned, “Just make sure you won’t get whiskers and a tail out of this visit. Or eat something that makes you vomit all over the desk when you drink tea.”

Despite Harry growling at his friend for making fun of him, he had to admit that all these things had happened, so he promised, “I’ll be careful.”

On his way to the Atrium, he slipped into the infirmary for a quick check-up. Harry knew he was fine, had had enough experience with being cursed to know that nothing had hit him this time. But his clean bill of health would show on the report and put Neville at ease. The fellow Gryffindor really was the best partner Harry could wish for, so he did not want to lose him.

\--O-O--

The late September air was fresh and crisp, reflecting on the dozen shop-windows of Diagon Alley. Even after five years, the remnants of the war were still visible in some places. However, the Wizarding World tried its hardest to heal. Buying himself a triple club sandwich and some pumpkin juice, Harry made his way down the street, towards his best mate’s shop.

After Fred’s death, Ron had done everything in his power to support George. Despite all three of them returning to Hogwarts for their final year, the red-head had started to follow in his dead brother’s footsteps, developing products in his spare free time. Though he did not have the brilliant mind of Fred when it came to pranks; or Lee’s financial talents with negotiations with potential customers and his exceptional book-keeping skills; the war – especially after him re-joining them – had taught him to reach his goals with virtually no resources.

Beetleroot was out of stock? Ron would find a new supplier within the day. Problems with outgoing shipments delayed their deliveries? A dozen owls and a muggle shipment-company for the weightier parcels were enlisted overnight.

George’s average fix-costs had decreased by twenty-seven percent, making Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes the most successful joke shop in Britain, maybe the entire United Kingdom.

George had offered Ron Fred’s part of the company within a year of him working there. But with the money he had received for his Order of Merlin – Second Class, the youngest male Weasley had bought a roomy house for Hermione and himself and was content with that. He accepted payment suitable for his efforts, even compensation for added hours or when he had to come in on weekends, but nothing beyond that.

With Hermione and Harry’s help, they had set up a fund from Fred’s earnings. The money would go to several orphanages because – as the Weasleys had decided collectively – losing one’s parents was horrible. So, these children could do with some serious cheering up. (That most of the money would go towards their education, was never talked about, because school was boooooring!)

“Mate, you are a lifesaver!” Ron announced, as soon as Harry entered, before turning back towards his costumer, bowing when handing over the product. “Here is your Giggling Goo, Miss Rosenberry. Have fun with it. We hope to see you again soon.”

A little girl, with pigtails down to her pink, frilly skirt beamed up at him and at once dug into the paper bag. Giggling already, she replied, “Thank you, Mister Ron. Have a good day.” When she passed Harry, she smiled brightly, revealing a missing front tooth. “You too, Mister Mister-Ron’s-friend.”

“Gimme!” The redhead insisted, making grabby hands for Harry’s remaining sandwich. Relinquishing it easily, he looked after the girl. “Polite little thing.”

“That’s Ariadne,” Ron mumbled around his food. “She comes in every fortnight. Her mum died during an attack six months ago, leaving her and her baby-brother to their dad’s care. We think she buys the Goo for the baby when he can’t sleep for a few nights in a row. She told me once that her dad can sleep through her brother’s giggling but gets really sad when Theseus cries. George decided that we offer her a fifty percent discount. She pays for one ounce but receives two.”

Nodding, Harry handed over the last of his juice, for Ron to wash down the sandwich. Once his best friend was finished, he dived behind the counter and produced a jar of rainbow-coloured candy. “Here, try one.”

Stepping back, the raven shook his head, “No offence, Ron, but the last time I did, I was sweating blue for two days.”

Fishing out one of the sweets, Ron pushed it at Harry, “We worked out that kink, I promise. Just try it again. They taste like Fish Mints now, you’ll like them.”

Reluctantly taking the sweet, he studied it suspiciously. “For your sake, I hope you mean ‘Fresh Mints’,” before popping it into his mouth.

“Exactly!” His friend exclaimed, shaking his head at himself. “I was wondering about that strange name. Anyway …” He mirrored Harry’s attention when the later studied his hands, that turned red, faded to orange, and then started to shine a bright yellow. Beaming, Ron revealed, “You’ll go through all the colours of the rainbow, and once the roll is finished, your natural skin-colour starts to bleed through again.”

“Pretty,” Harry decided, hiccupping under his breath. “I think Luna would love these.” Hick!

Studying his friend, Ron mumbled absent-minded, “So take some and give them to her tomorrow.”

Hick!

“Ron?” Hick! “What’s happening?”

Frowning, the redhead explained, “We have this problem with one out of fifty testers. But you didn’t get hiccup last time.”

Popping the sweet into the napkin, Ron provided, Harry, shrugged. After another hick, he pondered, “Maybe something I ate?”

Beaming all of a sudden, Ron dug into the bag and popped one into his mouth.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, we just ate the same thing. If it is something in the food, we …” Hick!

“Brilliant!” Spitting out the sweet, the redhead rummaged through the garbage bin to find the sandwich wrapper Harry had offered. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Locking the door with a chuckle, Harry followed Ron through the side-door into the laboratories, where the new products were developed.”

**“George!”**

Harry covered his ears just in time, when the twin removed a cloak with a disillusionment charm, right behind his younger brother and shouted in an equally loud voice, **“Ron!”** Prompting the other redhead to jump a foot into the air. Then he turned around and greeted in a normal voice. “Hey, Harry,” evading skilfully, when Ron lashed out and raged, “Stop doing that!”

Grinning unrepentantly, the taller Weasley handed the cloak over, when the Auror reached for it and stated, “You hollered, little brother?”

Shaking his head to get back on track, Ron offered the wrapper. “I think I know why some people hiccup from our Rainbow Rolls.” And with that, the two Weasleys went off on technical terms Harry hadn’t even known existed.

Checking the enchantment on the coat, George really had a gift for these, Harry left a little note before bundling up the fabric. He left through the shop, thumbing it close. Those two would be useless for the next few hours, ironing out the last flaws in their latest product.

\--O-O--

The faint smile that grazed his lips when thinking about Ron and George’s antics melted away, when he arrived at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He looked up the façade as the house pushed itself into view, briefly squeezing his eyes shut when the sunlight reflected on a window on the top floor. With a sigh, he opened the door.

While the interior was still decorated in dark colours, the mould, cobwebs and moisture, that had seemed to cling to everything, were gone. After the war, when Harry had moved into the only home his godfather had been able to give him, he had earned Kreacher’s respect by cleaning the place. Well, maybe respect was too strong of a word. Watching him, the elf had overcome the inherited loathing he felt for every person not born into the Black bloodline. Harry had spent hours on his knees, scrubbing floors because the grime of decades had proven too stubborn to be removed even with the most potent cleaning spells. Every time he had risen, dirty and stiff, he had imagined how the rest of the Wizarding World would react when seeing their saviour on his knees. The truth was, he could have made things easier on himself. Transfigure the old and threadbare wooden floors into shiny, new beams, but that had felt like an insult to Sirius memory. So physical labour it had been. At least he had done it out of his own, free will and not because some wizard-hating muggle had forced him. In a way, it had been cathartic to clean his own home, and he had slept more comfortable at night after working himself to exhaustion. No nightmares had plagued his dreams.

They had returned, with a vengeance, after he had brushed down the last of the walls, exchanged the last of the drapes and dusted off the last of the furniture. Harry had fallen into a hole, swallowed by his own memories of torture and death. Sleeping had become a distant memory and eating a once-in-a-day occurrence. He had cared for his live-in house guest better than himself, and the man had been in a coma since the day of the Battle at Hogwarts.

For nearly six months Harry had tortured himself with living through horrible memories each night until Hermione had kicked him out of bed and – effectively – out of the house. He had heard about Egypt from Ron when he was still at school. Had learned about France, where Ron and Hermione had spent their honeymoon, but none of these places had felt real for him. Again, his best friend had ordered him to Just. Get. Out. Starring at her, Harry had made the split-second decision to do just that. If memories of Tom’s horrible deeds kept him from living, he gave them too much power.

Deciding he was done with that. He had packed his bag, had hired a live-in-nurse and had entered Gringotts the next morning. One of Hermione’s charmed bags over his shoulder and his purse full off money, he had gone to Kings Cross and left the country the same day.

Paris had been his first stop, the Eiffel tower in all its glory a sight that took his breath away. Southern France, with all its colourful flower-fields, had shown him that there still was beauty in the world and from there, he had started tramping through Europe. In India, he had found a great travelling companion in a green rattlesnake that had escaped one of the temples. She taught him about the magic of the land, how she could feel the power through her belly when crawling moving on the ground. Harry had visited graves, birth-places, the top of the world, breathing in magic that could not be more different from the power in Britain. He met wizards he could not understand, no matter how many translations spells he tried and communicated with hand and feet. He had eaten food that had made his stomach hurt, had puked out his guts from all the strange spices and had gotten drunken on wine you could never find anywhere else.

He had passed Russia; visited Durmstrang and Victor Krum once the season was over. The former champion of the Triwizard's Tournament had invited Harry into his own home, and over the course of an extended weekend, they had drunken several bottles of vodka and reminiscence about times passed. That weekend Harry learned that Hermione was pregnant. He was giggling through the entire fire-call and tears had started streaming down his eyes when she showed him a blurry ultrasound picture of a little blob he could not even identify. He wanted to return home that night, but his best friend had – sensible as always – told him to continue his journey and that the baby was not due until next spring.

In Korea, Japan and finally China he learned about the inherited magic that lived in the very stones of the buildings that had been erected hundreds of years ago. About ancient creatures so tiny you could not even see them, but that thrived on the emotions of the inhabitants of their homes. Luna would have loved them, and Harry had purchased several paintings and books to send to his friend.

In New Zeeland, he found flowers unlike any he had seen before. So precious and vibrant, that he acquired a whole kilo of different seeds and sent them home, along with a library of books about their cultivation for Neville.

Australia was … scary to say the least. How did anybody live in a country where literally everything, from the tiniest spider to the prettiest flower could kill you with its poison? But the people adapted. Harry spent a fortnight with a werewolf clan that lived in the outback, running and hunting on the full moon because there was nothing for hundreds of miles around, except small livestock and veldt. They did not hurt each other or themselves; never lock themselves up. When they wanted to run, be it as a wolf or as wizard they just did, and they had been the most peace-loving people he had met so far. He listened to their stories, wrote everything down and sent it to Hermione once he was back with the civilisation where he could find a post-office.  His best friend still was invested in the whole creatures-right debate, and this would definitely help. And if he sent tiny jumpers with kangaroos and a blanket with koalas, he hadn't mentioned it in the enclosed letter.

From Sydney, he flew to Los Vegas and spent an entire weekend wrapped up in women, booze and gambling. Since he had never had much money, he had set himself a sensible limit on how much to spend. Yet when he woke on Monday morning, with more money in his pocket, he suspected that his magic had given him a little nudge.

Travelling the coast became an experience in itself because when he was tramping, he met a lot of different people, some nice, some not so much. But most were okay. One guy in a sports-car, who had picked him up in L.A. had come on to him and did not seem to understand that ‘No’ was a valuable answer when proposing someone. Harry had solved the problem by obliviating him. The next ride he had hitched was a biker gang, and though he had been reluctant at first, they had turned out to be the most helpful guys he had met so far. They had planned to tour the U.S. during their holidays and readily invited Harry to join them, only requesting money for gas. So, he hiked with them until New Orleans where the exotic spices and the voodoo magic had captured his attention.

A set of voodoo dolls and an instructive volume on spells had become his gift for Ron. Harry had been sure that he and George would have had a field-day with them. He had sent a Gumbo-cooking book along for Molly and a recording of the local music for Arthur. The very air seemed to vibrate with the magic of these people, from the musicians, who wove their own kind of spells with their instruments, to the priestess who served the land and its people.

His last stop had been South America. He had port keyed to Rio, but as soon as he had set foot in the city, something had pulled him into the jungle. He had bought supplies, and since he had an enchanted tent in his bag, he had no trouble to find a place to sleep, wherever he stopped for the night. Transfiguring it, so he could hang it in a tree, rather than set it up on the ground – something he had learned in Australia – he had felt safe enough to sleep unguarded. He learned to cast more than the essential wards when he woke one day to a horde of monkeys going through his food supplies.

Following the unexplainable draw that pulled him into the jungle, he stumbled out of the greenery at the foot of a giant pyramid, that felt like the people living there had only abandoned it yesterday. When he set foot on the premises, he realised that it had not been abandoned at all. People with spears and nets had forced him to his knees, and though he had sensed dark magic surrounding him, he surprisingly had not felt threatened. He had gotten to know true evil and these people, though afraid of him, had not been evil. He had allowed them to go through his pockets and his bag, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to unlock the expanded compartment since they weren’t magical. He had been more than surprised for one of them to shout out when they had pulled out his wand. He had made a grab for it, and surprisingly they had relinquished it easily.

Not knowing how to proceed, Harry had remained on his knees, watching, listening, trying to gauge the reaction of these people. Then the apparent leader had stepped before him, banging his spear on the floor, shooting fireworks into the sky. When the man had looked at him expectantly, he had cast a Patronus. Though he doubted that they had ever seen a deer, they understood the inherited magic, and with a toothy smile, the man had offered his hand and helped Harry to his feet. He then had been invited to join them and entered their home through the pyramid. Harry had emerged on the other side into a picturesque valley where women were preparing food and clothes, children were running screaming between them and men were labouring away on the fields and plantations that seemed to cover the mountain walls surrounding them.

It was … there was not really a word for it. The magic here was dark, covering everything like a blanket. Harry understood that on the same level that he knew that the sun was rising in the east. But there was no threat. He watched mothers cast stinging hexes on their children when they misbehaved and men to use charms to help the flowers grow. The air was filled with the scent of their magic, and everything was saturated with their power. Being guided towards the temple, Harry had not realised what was going on, too fascinated by everything around him. But when he was surrounded by seven priests, standing in the middle of a circle, he grew weary and grabbed his wand tighter. But instead of overwhelming him, the men stepped up to him, and each and every one of them drew a part of a symbol on his forehead, using their blood for paint. They barely needed five minutes and the more they completed, the better idea Harry got what this was all about. Once the last one was finished, and an incantation was sung, the British wizard understood. Harry did not actually get the words, but he could gather the meaning. Making conversation possible. As soon as the Brit grasped that, questions poured out of his mouth and with a joyous laugh, one of the priests pulled him along and started explaining.

Harry learned about civilisations hidden so long that they had been forgotten by the modern world. About magic so woven into a place and the people living there, that it needed to be maintained, cast, savoured for the earth to stay alive. He was taught about ley-lines and focus points. How magic required an anchor on the planet and that the magic of the land always called to its wizards. Harry might be able to cast light-spells, even in these dark surroundings, but they were feeble and weak, despite his power. They taught him incantations in their mother-tongue, dark and powerful, to heal, to destroy, to grow. They would be weaker in his home, because the British Isle, Albion was the white island so the magic there was as well. But – he understood – light did not mean good and dark did not mean evil. Snakes were a powerful symbol in their society, and as soon as they learned that he could speak to them, they guided him into a tomb deep under the floor of the great temple. There he understood for the first time that parselmouth was more than a way to converse with snakes. It was a unique form of magic, dark but not evil if the caster had no according intentions. It was just a different way to channel what was there.

For more than a month he lived with these people, breathed their magic until his very soul started hurting because he missed his home so much. The last thing the men and women of the Brazilian temple taught him, was how to connect points of high power. Portkeys, he was educated, were a shortcut over small distances, a couple of hundred miles at best. But if you were able to feel the very magic of the earth, with enough power, you could travel the ley-lines from one node to another. So, he tried and meditated, learning to sink into the ground to follow the power-grid that surrounded the planet. Harry was not able to travel farther than the edges of the country, but his teachers congratulated him because that was quite an achievement for someone who had had no knowledge about parselmagic before. They showed him a map of the world as they knew it and with little difficulty, Harry could identify the node of power at home. He helped prepare the ritual and promised to return, but they all knew that to be a lie. Still, they let it go and offered an open invitation.

Forty-nine of the most potent witches and wizards of their village cast for several hours, then Harry was pulled through – what seemed to be the centre of the Earth – and landed on wet grass, surrounded by stone monoliths. The British wizard fell to his knees, ready to weep. He had not known, had not understood how much he had longed for the magic of his home, until Harry felt it surrounding him again, caressing his skin, his very soul now that he was back. Looking around, he wanted to chuckle, because of course, where else could he land but in the centre of Stonehenge, the stone monoliths surrounding him like sentinels of a time long forgotten. He sent back a small, wet stone, as they had agreed upon, something infused with the magic of his home before the connection closed all the way. Something easily transportable because it had no life.

When he returned to Grimmauld Place, ten months after his departure, he had entered a home. Nothing perfect, but finally the place he knew he belonged. Rose Weasley had been born three days later, and Harry had, once more, become the godfather of the most beautiful baby.

\--O-O--

Now, more than three years later, Grimmauld Place was warm, almost homey, thanks to the house elf, who had helped with any restorations Harry had decided upon but had had no clue of how to achieve. Still, some days the dark thoughts and spells generations of Blacks had cast in this place seemed to permeate the very walls, making it hard for Harry to relax. Entering the expanded kitchen – nearly every room in the house had gained a few square feet with him imploring wizarding space upon them – he demanded to know, “How is he?”

“Sleeping peacefully as always, Sir.”

Thousand days of the same question and thousand days of receiving the same answer. Morose, Harry sank down in his chair at the head of the table, accepting his house-elf’s, “Dinner will be ready in a moment,” with a simple, “Thank you, Kreacher.”

Eating the no doubt excellent meal, Harry took little time to retreat to the upstairs study once he was finished. Compared to the rest of the house, this room seemed downright untidy, since it was the only one, Kreacher was not allowed to enter. Beer - and the occasional whiskey bottle littered the surfaces of most furniture. This had once been the salon of Walburga Black, dominated by the vast tapestry that held every name ever born into the Black family. ‘At least those she considered worthy,’ Harry thought, fixating bitterly on the leaf where Sirius name had been snuffed out by fire.

This too was a useless ritual he entertained ever since returning from his journey: he tried to spell his godfather’s name back into the family tree. Sirius had died a hero, fighting Voldemort to the best of his abilities. He should not have been killed that night, at the hands of an insane Death Eater. No matter how many they captured, there were forever more. Most days, Harry felt like he and Neville were fighting cockroaches, no matter how many they eradicated, the next nest was just around the corner. It was so hopeless as if they were never making any real progress. Hopeless, like his latest spell, the carpet refused to yield to. Sirius name still glaring through its absence. Drowning half of his drink in one go, Harry let his head fall back against the armchair, closing his eyes. Tomorrow they would have to follow another lead, find more of the bad guys, make their world a little safer one raid at a time. Maybe one day, they would succeed, and Neville would be able to return to his greenhouses and his flowers. To him, it would be worth it. Draining the last of his drink, Harry set it aside and, after a little detour into the second bedroom on the third floor, went to bed.

\--O-O--

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking in Malfoy’s defeated posture, Harry made one of his many ill-thought-through and reckless decisions, that would - once again - change the course of his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betareader still sorely needed.

Taking in the numbers on his alarm clock, Harry sighed contently and snuggled back under the covers. Friday! Best day of the week, in his opinion. If no lead came up, all they had to do was boring paperwork, maybe some light investigating and around one, they would head out. Lunch in the Leaky Cauldron with his friends was the best part of Harry’s week.

Many former Hogwarts students, mostly former DA members, would join them. From what he had heard, even Ginny might be in town. He never envied her the fame she had gathered, since signing the seeker contract with the Flying Harpies, right out of school. After the war, they had decided that the idea of a relationship had been better than the reality of it. Still, he missed her and could not wait to hear about her latest season. Last time she had been in London, she had even promised to make time for them to spend a day together. Going out with her on occasion helped to keep the rumours about their relationship alive and him off the list of the most eligible bachelors. A win-win situation in his mind.

Since it was not even six a.m. Harry could enjoy a little lie-in. Or so he thought until someone started pounding on the door as if wanting to kick it down. With reflexes won during the war and honed at work, the Auror was in the entrance hall, his wand ready, in ten seconds flat. Shivering from the morning breeze that hit his naked chest, Harry froze when recognising his unexpected visitor. Despite the man wearing a hood that cast his face in shadows, Harry would have known him anywhere from his posture alone.

“Malfoy?”

Emerald eyes met silver-grey orbs that were filled with desperation. The young man noticed that the blond was trembling nearly imperceptibly, very much like the last time Harry had seen Malfoy in the great hall, after the battle. Fear was prominent in the young man's tone when words were spoken, the chosen one had never, ever imagined hearing from his former rival. “Please, help me.”

Since Malfoy seemed ready to topple over, Harry invited him into the living room and once the blond had received a strengthening cup of tea and Harry had donned sweats and a long shirt over his tread-bare sleeping pants, he demanded to know, “Alright, what do you need?”

That, however, seemed to be anything but an easy question, since Malfoy started to fidget with his cup, unable or unwilling to look up. After two minutes, Harry grew tired of waiting and exhaled, “Listen, if you came over for a cup of tea, Kreacher will serve you to your heart's content, and I’ll go back to bed. Not that it is not … delightful,” he spat, “to have a former Death Eater in my house, I have work today and plans for lunch.”

Nope, still did not like the pureblood, but he had wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt after this unusual greeting. But it was early, Harry was cold, and if Malfoy simply had come to annoy him, he could do so tomorrow, on his day off. Or better next week, provided he did not have any raids. Or better never, Harry thought, rising from the sofa.

The clatter of a trembling cup meeting its porcelain saucer made him hesitate. That was the only reason, he even caught the other’s whispered admission. “They want to sentence him to the kiss,” before the blond broke down, hiding his face in his hands, shaking all over.

“But they can’t!” Harry croaked in shock. He had made sure of that, had spoken in the Malfoy families' defence, unbeknown to them of course. After the war, he had not been able to take another family falling apart because of Him. Tom did not have that sort of power any longer, not if Harry could help it. So Narcissa and Draco had gotten off with house arrest, and Lucius had been sentenced to another five years in Azkaban before he got any chance of parole. As the ‘Saviour of the Wizarding World’ Harry had believed his words to carry some weight. But if what Malfoy said was right, it had been but another useless attempt to make things right.

Losing the last of his composure at that denial, the blond shot up from his seat, screaming in Harry’s face. “Of course, they can. They are the fucking Ministry of Magic! They do whatever they want, just like Vol… Voldemort did,” he soldiered on, despite his obvious fear of both the man and the name. “And contrary to the Dark Lord, nobody ever opposes them! They locked mum and me away in that horrible mansion and froze our assets. We are not allowed to change a single thing! Do you know what the first thing is you see when entering the salon? Granger’s blood, because we can’t even clean the floor until someone inspects it and deems it worthy of cleaning! And the room the Dark Lord used, and the dining room where he held court? They stink of him and his trice damned snake, and the sweat and the tears and the blood of his victims!

“Oh, and let’s not forget about interior design. Let’s talk about bare necessities! Since we don’t have any money, we can’t even buy our own food without going through the ‘proper’ channels. If our gamekeeper considers something my mother requests a luxury, he simply removes it from the provision list without providing a substitute. We needed six bloody months to compose a list that got approved more often than not, though he still rejects random requests just for shit and giggles! We tried to grow our own food, but I’m shit at Herbology and mum’s barely better.

“Do you know how it feels to be constantly hungry and assaulted by nightmares at every corner, in your own home?”

Having listened to the desperate rant helplessly, Harry took the wind out of the blond’s sails by stating dispassionately, “Yes.”

“What?” Draco gasped, trembling from exertion.

Gesturing his guest back in the chair, Harry shrugged. “Yes, I know how it feels to be assaulted by nightmares day in and day out. And, yes, I know how it feels to go hungry. But that’s not what you came here to discuss. What about your father?”

Looking down at his shaking fingers, Draco revealed, “They are going to sentence him to the Dementor’s Kiss. The hearing is at nine. They say new evidence came up and,” swallowing thickly around the tears he refused to let drop, he looked at Harry pleading. His voice was back to a whisper as if his rant had drained the last of his energy. “They will kill my father, and I don’t know what to do. Please, Potter, if you can help him, I …” Closing his eyes for a moment, the formerly oh-so-proud pureblood seemed to be at war with himself. Yet after a few heartbeats, he gazed at his former nemesis and took a steeling breath. “I don’t have any money or anything else to offer. Even to sneak out, my mother had to bribe one of the guards with some freshly baked bread, made of the last of our provisions, but if … if you do this for us, if you are willing to try, I’ll offer myself.”

Convinced that he had not heard right, Harry muttered, “Excuse me?”

Despite his worn figure, Draco sank to his knees gracefully on Harry’s living-room carpet and bowed his head in submission. “I’ll be at your service, following your every whim, my Lord. It’s the only thing I have to give since my life is the only thing they have not yet taken.”

Flinching like Malfoy had just slapped him, when calling him ‘my Lord’, Harry reared back on the couch, until his brain caught up with this surreal situation. The blond, however, seemed to take the prolonged silence as rejection and sagged on his knees. The arms wrapped around his middle were barely enough to contain his trembling. When Harry touched his shoulder, he flinched until the raven’s words registered.

“Get up, Malfoy, please. And don’t call me ‘my Lord’ … I mean ever! I’m not Tom.” While guiding the broken, young man to the couch once more, rubbing his arms in a helpless, soothing gesture, Harry’s brain raced through possible scenarios. Malfoy had offered himself, but since he had not accepted the submission, no magical oath was binding them for now, only the blond’s promise. Concerning Draco’s father … he needed Hermione, and fast!

It was past seven already. Draco's words pulled him out of his frantic thoughts when reminding him. “I should go back to the Manor. I … if …, I have nothing else to offer. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Taking in Malfoy’s defeated posture, Harry made one of his many ill-thought-through and reckless decisions, that would - once again - change the course of his entire life. “No,” he resolved, rose from the couch, and called out. “Kreacher, show Malfoy one of the guest-rooms on the second floor. He’ll stay with us for the near future, in service to the family.”

Turning towards the blond, he instructed, “You can see I’ve done the bare necessities with this house. It will be your job to renovate it and make a proper inventory. Since you are good with magical objects, I assume you will be able to figure out which ones to keep and which ones need to go. Work your way from the second floor down, the third one is off limits. My private rooms are there, and I don’t want you snooping around. Understood?”

Steamrolled, Draco could only nod, a glimmer of hope reflecting in his eyes, turning them from a dull grey to shining silver for a heartbeat. “Yes, my … yes, Harry.”

“Good,” the raven nodded. “I’ll talk to the Auror responsible for your and your mum’s sentence and inform him of your change of residency. Now get up and make yourself at home. Kreacher will serve breakfast in about an hour, then you can go to work.” As an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and should you need any help, the library reads like the who-is-who of dark magic. Feel free to look up any spell that might come in handy.”

When the blond stumbled after Harry’s house elf, the owner of the house nodded to himself. He knew Draco to be exceptionally skilled with magical artefacts and was aware of his love for books. His current assignment should keep him busy until the situation was resolved, one way or the other. Looking at the clock, Harry stormed up to his room, cast a cleaning charm and threw on some clothes, suitable for a hearing at the Wizengamot.

“You filthy, little half-blood!” Sneered a vicious voice from the one paintings, Harry had chosen for his bedroom.

Trying to tame his hair, he sighed resigned. At least she had not screeched from the top of her lungs. Still, this was unacceptable. “Lady Black, we have talked about this. You don’t verbally abuse me in my own home, and I don’t cover your portrait with pink spray-paint.”

Crossing his arms over her chest, glaring down from the lovely surroundings of a Tuscany Villa, she spat, “And pray, how would you have me address the oppressor of the last living member of the Black family?”

Not wanting to repeat the ever-recurring argument of him being Sirius’ godson, hence a member of the Black-family, Harry got right to the point, gesturing towards the door. “Have you seen his face when he talked about going back? Draco hates that dreadful place, and I can’t blame him. As for his status as my ‘servant’, that way he can do something he is good at; in a place, Tom’s shadow doesn’t lurk behind every corner. Also, he won’t have to go hungry here. Tell me that’s not a two-hundred-percent increase on his living conditions! And now, you’ll excuse me, I have a pompous, pure-blooded git to rescue!”

Turning towards the door, he barely caught Walburga’s reply when she mumbled, “I hope you know what you are doing, child. Otherwise, you will be responsible for the end of the noble Malfoy family.”

‘Me too,’ Harry thought when he flooed to the Ministry and raced down to the Department of Magical Law, hoping to catch Hermione after her first cup of tea. Unfortunately, his brash entrance made her spill her last sip, busy moping it up with a napkin she glared at him. “Heavens, Harry, give a girl a little warning. It’s not even half past seven and you …”

“Hermione,” he interrupted her rant, making her look up at the uncharacteristic urgency in his tone. “I need your help.”

Vanishing the whole mess with magic, she reached for a fresh piece of parchment and a self-inking quill. “What's wrong?”

Ten minutes later, Hermione was chewing on her bottom lip, stepping up to her books. “I don’t think we can prove that Mister Malfoy doesn’t deserve the Dementor’s Kiss. He has done all the horrible things they accused him off, after all. But maybe, I have an idea that could help. I just have to check something.”

“We only have about an hour. Do you think that’s enough?”

“Let's hope so.” She pondered, rushing through her volumes. “But we will need help. Get me Ron and … Luna would be good … and I’ll see what I can do.”

Used to follow his best friend’s advice, Harry left, sprinting towards his office, hoping, and praying that Neville was already in.”

_\--O-O--_

“In the light of this damning evidence, this court can only sentence the accused to receive the Dementor’s Kiss,” the head of the Wizengamot – an unpleasant man with a permanent sneer on his face – announced. His hammer was about to fall, when a female voice interrupted, “Objection, Sir!”

Sputtering indignantly, the wizard demanded to know, “Who dares to disturb this sentence?”

Briefly gazing at the encouraging faces of her friends, Hermione smiled when rising from her seat and stepped down confidently onto the open floor. “Hermione Granger, Department of Magical Law.” Looking at the mostly empty seats of the courtroom, she realised that what Malfoy's story was true: this was a setup. Someone tried to get rid of Lucius Malfoy without drawing attention. But that was not how justice was supposed to work, so Hermione squared her shoulders and announced, “Though I have no doubt that the amount of evidence against Lord Malfoy is overwhelming, we object to the sentence. Me and my friends were the last prisoners in Malfoy Manor, and we don’t feel that justice is served with a simple Kiss. The aftermath of the incarceration and the torture we have suffered under Lord Malfoy’s roof will burden us for the rest of our lives. So, we consider it quaint, that Lord Malfoy serves an equally long sentence.”

“Who is ‘we’, Miss Granger?” A law-witch at the side demanded to know. “You are talking plural, but for now you are the only one who demands an altered sentence.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” a soft voice filled the room when Luna stepped before the court. “I am Luna Lovegood, and I too have suffered Mister Malfoy’s ‘hospitality’ after having been abducted from my own home.”

“As have I,” a certain redhead announced, taking position beside Hermione. “Ronald Weasley, your honour.”

“Me as well,” Harry followed his friends, claiming a place on Malfoy’s other side. “Harry Potter, Auror for the Ministry of Magic. Countless have suffered because of this man, and though no verdict will ever bring back those he has killed, let him make reparations for all the wrongs he had committed.”

After a deep breath, Hermione picked up the thread. “We demand Lord Malfoy to undergo the Rite of Compulsory Surrender.”

Thunderstruck the witches and wizards of the council gazed at the war heroes that had had their hand in defeating the most dangerous threat their world has known. The Head of the Wizengamot was the first to recover. “This rite has not been revoked for several hundred years. You would need a liege for Lord Malfoy,” he spat out the name, making his distaste for the man audible. “A person who would be personally responsible for everything his vassal does. Where do you plan on finding someone who would take legal responsibility for the actions of a former Death Eater?”

Relieved that they had come this far, Hermione had not been sure that the archaic rite, she had dug up, would even be recognised, she nodded encouragingly, and Harry stepped forth. “Right here, Sir.”

The roused conversation had the four friends look at each other hopefully. Their suspended wait was interrupted when the delinquent spat out with a rasped voice, “You can’t mean that, Potter. What you plan is social suicide! We both know that I will never bow to you.”

Rolling his eyes at the prideful pureblood, Harry stepped in front of the prisoner, folded his arms in front of his chest and took his time to glare at him. Maybe he was taking a little too much pleasure in bringing this man down. But then, the last time they had talked, Lucius Malfoy had threatened him by calling his Lord to kill him. So, with more vindictiveness than was usual for him, Harry loomed and informed him silkily, “Oh, you will bow to me. You will go where I tell you; sleep when I permit you; eat what I provide, and not a single syllable that was not approved by me will come out of your mouth.”

“And why would I do that?” The pureblood reared.

Leaning over the exhausted figure, caging him by placing his hands right next to the shackled arms of the Death Eater, the young Auror whispered into his ear, “Because I have your son. Draco pledged his freedom to me for the mere attempt to get you out. So, no matter the outcome, your boy is mine to do with as I please.” Chuckling darkly, he continued, “And Narcissa, your beautiful, strong wife, is struggling as it is. Always hungry, locked in a mansion where insanity reigned for too long. How much time before she follows in the footsteps of her sister Bellatrix and simply relinquishes her hold on sanity without you?”

When pulling back, Harry could see the terror in Lucius’ eyes when the man fought valiantly against the chains, spitting out viciously, “You’re lying.”

“Why should I?” The boy-who-lived sneered. “The reality of your family is grim enough without me making anything up.”

Harry was … exaggerating. Draco would be taken care off at Grimmauld Place and one way or the other, he would find a way to help Lady Malfoy as well. But Lucius’ son was close to breaking, and Harry would not be able to get his father out of here if the pureblood saw any other way to protect his family. Harry had watched him during the initial trial, four years ago. He had barely reacted, obviously already resigned to receive the harshest sentence, maybe even the Kiss. There had been a brief burst of prideful indignance, but now he appeared willing to go through with whatever insane plan Hermione had come up with. Good, otherwise the Wizengamot would never believe Harry a suitable liege for a former Lord if Lucius didn’t bow to him on his own.

“Lucius, Abraxas Malfoy, are you willing to make a binding, magical vow and align yourself with Harry, James Potter? Accept his will as your own and obey him, no matter his demands?”

Struggling subconsciously against the bindings, the white-haired man edged forward and gazed up at Harry beseechingly. Frantically, he replied, “Yes! I will swear a wizard’s oath, a blood oath, anything you want!”

Looking at his colleagues, the Head of the Wizengamot let his hammer fall, this time nobody interrupted. “So be it!”

As soon as he had been freed from the chair, Lucius Malfoy trembled as he rose, before sinking to his knees in front of Harry and nearly tripped over his own words in his haste as he swore, “I, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, accept you Harry, James Potter as my liege. I pledge my powers, my knowledge and my skill to you, to use, in any way you see fit. Your voice, your mind, your very intentions shall be mine until the day you release me from this bond.”

“So mote it be,” Harry accepted the binding vow, putting a hand on the platinum blond’s neck.

The Chief Warlock cast the spell to bind them together, and while Harry felt a little tingling, the way his vassal trembled under his fingers, pulse going erratic indicated that it was far from painless for him. Using his wand to tip up Lucius’ face, he saw the agony, fear and despondency in his eyes.

On their way here, Hermione had taught him a spell that would help Harry claim what Lucius was forced to offer, even beyond the vow. A precaution, she had stated. Until now, he had not been sure if he would be able to cast the spell to make it binding. Magic was all about intent, after all. He was here at Draco’s request, not because he felt any sympathy for the blond’s father. Right this second, however, he could not help but feel the need to shelter the man who had just signed over his life, only because he had seen no other way to protect his family. No matter his mistakes, Lucius had hurt enough in these last five years in Azkaban and before in Voldemort's service, so Harry’s desire was genuine when he whispered, “Prefugium.”

A silver chain erupted from his wand and wrapped around the older man’s neck. When the circle closed, the metal formed an H and a P that sat at the hollow of Lucius’ throat. His vassal swayed on his knees the moment the spell activated, sinking against Harry with a barely audible, “Thank you, Master.”

Evidently, this display of meekness satisfied the attending wizards, because after giving Harry a brief overview over his rights and responsibilities, which were limitless short of killing his vassal on a whim, they left the courtroom. Once the last member had gone, Neville peeked through the door. Watching the former Lord struggle to his feet, he approached his friends and asked, “So, what happened?”

Wrapping her arms around his waist, Luna smiled. “Harry committed social suicide.”

Kissing his beloved’s hair, Neville glared at his partner. “If you think that you can leave me hanging at the next Ministry Gala, think again!”

The group, sans Lucius, chuckled because they all knew how much Harry aborted his social responsibilities. He enjoyed going out with his friends, but all the invitations he received just because the host or hostess wanted to parade around the ‘saviour of the wizarding world’ … well, he would gladly do without them.

\--O-O--

Lucius groaned blissfully when the hot water loosened muscles that had been knotted for years. Potter had ordered him to follow Neville, while he was talking to one of his colleagues. Though the former Lord was miffed to be cast aside so easily, he had to admit that the first hot shower in nearly four years was unbelievably relaxing. Of course, he hated to be made a vassal, but at least this time his Lord was sane and not hell-bent on ruling the world. Surely Potter had no intentions of harming his family. However, he had boasted about Draco pledging his life to him, and he had taken obvious delight in sharing Narcissa’s fragile state of mind.

By Merlin, what if Lucius was, once more, just a pawn in someone else’s game? Convinced that it was the best way to ensure his families well-being, he had not even protested being sent back to Azkaban after the final battle. He had decided to give in, pleading only for his family to get off with a minimal sentence. But what if that had been a plot for someone to gain hold of the Malfoy family?

Potter maybe?

No! The boy-who-lived had always been too good at heart. But then, he **had** been tortured at Malfoy Manor, and he had killed, even been killed if the rumours were true. Things like that changed a person. The white-haired wizard swayed on his feet, lost in the horrible scenarios of being, again, helpless to protect the people he loved.

\--O-O--

“No one could survive on these rations, let alone two people!” Harry glared, snapping at the colleague who oversaw the Malfoy’s house arrest and the according to provisions.

Arrogantly, the pale wizard in front of him glared back with equal fervour and spat, “Maybe it seems little to someone who has led a pampered life, but I can assure you, Auror Potter, that with a little work this is more than enough. Malfoy Manor spans several hectares. It will do these arrogant purebloods good to get their hands dirty and work for their food. At least that will keep them occupied.”

Incredulous at this man’s cruelty - letting someone starve was never a suitable punishment in Harry’s eyes - the young wizard leaned over the desk and stated in a dispassionate tone, “Since the former Lord Malfoy is back home, you will double these rations. You will add twenty eggs, five pounds of flour and seeds for various vegetables, as well as a book on how to care for them.”

The detached stare that had even made Tom pause, had the other Auror pullback in his seat, breathing out, “But that’s impossible. Lord Malfoy is in Azkaban!”

“Lucius Malfoy pledged his life, his skills and his powers to me when entering the Rite of Compulsory Surrender. He lost his Lordship the same moment, so it’s Mister Malfoy, until the day I decide to release him from my service. I, however, have no interest in a vassal so weak that he can’t follow even the simplest of orders because he is malnourished. Also, you will add cleaning supplies to the list and release the Malfoy’s house elves.”

Abhorring the idea to make life any easier on those purebloods, Auror Jenkins regained his composure and snarled. “Absolutely not!”

“Fine,” Harry relented, folding his arms, smiling down at the man wolfishly. “then I expect you bright and early on Saturday. Let’s say seven-thirty, with the cleaning supplies at hand. We have a lot of ground to cover before I can put Mister Malfoy to work on Monday.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I won’t work in a house where the blood of not only my best friend Hermione Granger but countless other victims covers the floors. Voldemort has lived in this house for three years. His stench covers every surface. Can you imagine how I would feel walking these rooms?”

Jenkins had paled when Harry had mentioned Tom’s chosen name and nodded compassionately before he noticed his colleagues glare once again. “Yes, … I mean, no, … I mean I’ll provide the supplies.”

“Thank you,” benevolently, he offered a small bow and turned towards the door. Incidentally, he mentioned before leaving, “By the way, you should add my house to the Malfoys’ permitted residencies. I can’t imagine being eager to travel to the Manor **every** day. Since Lucius is the head of his family, I believe that the help of his wife and son are implied in his pledge. Have a good day, Auror Jenkins, and thank you for your cooperation.”

Aware that his residence still was not public knowledge – and thank god for that – Harry wondered how his mean-spirited colleague would solve that particular problem. But after his petty cruelty against Draco and Narcissa, he had no intentions of making things easy.

Maybe he should accept Draco’s offer of servitude officially, forming a binding magic contract between the two of them. But until anybody gave him troubles for inviting the two other Malfoys into his home, it was better to leave things as they were. In the end, he didn’t want any more power over their family. Draco’s word was enough for him.

\--O-O--

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Could you please repeat yourself?” Head Auror Roberts stated calmly. Meaning, he gave Harry the chance to change his mind about what he had just said and offer a different opinion. Usually, Harry jumped at this chance readily, adapting his stories so they would cause the least inconvenience for his superior. He respected the man who, despite recruiting him the moment he had set foot on British soil after his gap year, had always offered an open ear and an unbiased opinion when Harry had asked his help.

Auror Roberts had understood that Harry had already more experience with hunting dark wizards than half of his Aurors after the first year and the ‘saviour of the wizarding world’ had tried to play by the rules like every other member of this department. Sadly, he couldn’t comply with his superior’s wishes today, so he repeated with an apologetic shrug, “I entered the Rite of Compulsory Surrender with Lucius Malfoy.”

“Damn, Harry!” His boss threw his cup of quills against the wall and shouted, “Why, by Merlin and Morgana, would you do something like that? To get Death Eaters behind bars is your bloody job description!”

Angrily, Harry whipped out his wand and weaved it over the shards of the broken cup. Since Roberts lost his temper at least once every few days – being Head Auror for the Ministry of Magic was a difficult job  – every Auror could cast the Reparo spell in his sleep after working here for a few weeks. Slamming the cup back on the desk, he snarled. “Bringing Death eaters to justice is my job, Sir. And since Malfoy had been sentenced to five years in Azkaban, as his entire family has aided me in the fight against Tom Riddle, I fail to see the justice in starving them, sentencing them to psychological torture and him receiving the Kiss for the simple reason that our prison is overflowing!”

For a few moments, the two stared at each other, before the Head Auror accioed his quills and reclaimed his seat. Leaning back, he folded his arms and demanded, “Explain.”

Sinking into one of the visitor’s chairs, Harry took a steeling breath and started today at six-thirty. With an apologetic look, the young man conjured a strong cup of tea from his and Neville’s kettle, pushing it at the man who was massaging his temples to ward off a headache, once he was finished. Not opening his eyes, Roberts decided, “We both know that you did the right thing. Otherwise Miss Granger wouldn’t have helped. Merlin knows, she is the only voice of reason you actually listen to. Though I’m grateful that Longbottom is a close second. Still, I can’t stand to look at you at the moment and the problems you’ve heaped on our heads. So, take the next week off, keep to yourself and let me deal with this mess. The backlash of having a convicted Death Eater out in the street again, and one so popular at that, will be severe; both within and outside our department.”

Of course, he knew that. Harry had just not given it any thought until now. Realizing how much trouble he had caused for his boss, he hung his head and whispered ashamed, “Sorry, Sir.”

Finally opening his eyes, Roberts glared at him. “Bullshit! Though you might not have realised the troubles your actions would cause, you still would have seen them through.

Despite the harshness of the accusation, the young Auror could only nod. “Yes, Sir.”

Agitated his opposite gestured towards the door. “Our cells are full of Dark Wizards who claim innocence, wrongful conviction or having been placed under the Imperious Curse, to begin with. You, leaving this place with Lord … Mister Malfoy in tow is like a slap in the face of every Auror who has risked his or her life to capture these people!”

Clenching his fists, Harry rose and promised, “I’ll find a way to make this right. I swear!”

Sighing tiredly, the Head Auror took a sip of his tea and relented. “I know you will try, Harry. But frankly, I can see no way out of this that won’t end in disaster.”

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You have been tortured here as well."  
> With a sigh, Harry sank against the wall. "I've been tortured at so many places, it hardly matters."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "At 3:52 p.m. the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has registered the use of magic at Malfoy Manor. Since the local residents are either forbidden or not in possession of a wand, we can only conclude that a violation of the rules of Mistress Narcissa Malfoy's house−arrest has occurred. Hence, under paragraph …"  
> "New?" Harry asked.  
> "Brand new," Daphne confirmed, rolling her eyes.  
> "Do you think he will look up anytime soon?"  
> "Not before he's through."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now found a betareader. topgngoose has taken it upon himself to help me with my story. So thanks a lot for making my baby all better :).  
> Now all of you can enjoy the fruits of our hard work.

Scrubbing his tangled and matted platinum strands, Lucius forced himself to get a grip on reality. Potter would never harm his family intentionally. He was too ‘good’ for that. If he submitted, as the rite and the spell demanded, his wife and child would be safe.

Watching the grime of four years circle down the drain, another horrible thought rose from the depth of Lucius’ mind. What if none of this was real? There had been nights … or days … certainly hours where the Dementors had kept their distance, allowing the prisoners a break from their constant nightmares. Most guards considered this an undeserved reprieve, but the convicts had learned to fear these times since it was nothing but a way to increase their suffering. After a few hours of peaceful dreams, the returning nightmares were all the more devastating.

This was a dream. By Merlin, he should have realised sooner and not gotten his hopes up. Of course, this was nothing but a figment of his imagination. Nothing good had happened to him since accepting this cursed Dark Mark. Clawing at the skin of his wrist, Lucius did his best to draw blood. He didn’t want this; couldn’t take comfort in a dream he knew would dissolve under the harsh magic of the Dementors. He deserved every suffering, but seeing his family despair, would destroy him. “Wake up. **Wake up.** **WAKE UP!** ” He chanted desperately until strong fingers wrapped around his wrists and the voice of his master commanded, “Lucius, **stop!** ”

So, he stopped, toppling to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Damn, Neville!” Harry cried out, doing his best to keep the unconscious figure from collapsing.

“What happened?” His friend peeked into the bathroom they shared with their colleagues from the next office.

“Help me, damn it!” The raven-haired demanded, desperately trying to keep Draco’s father from bashing his head open on the tiled floor.

Instantly reaching out, Neville helped to half drag - half carry - the unconscious man to their sofa.

“No clue,” Harry answered Neville’s first question, wrapping the dripping figure into the quilt they kept on the sofa for their power-naps when a particularly trying case went on too long. “When I came in to tell him that showering for nearly an hour was pushing it, he was clawing at himself, whispering frantically ‘Wake up’ under his breath over and over again.”

Having inspected the wound to stem the blood-flow, Neville pondered, “I don’t think he wanted to hurt himself. He was clawing at his Mark. Look.”

“Damn,” the raven repeated. “Can you heal him?”

Though Neville was brilliant with plants, his knowledge of healing spells was only marginally better than Harry’s.

“I could, he didn't hurt a vein after all, but I’m not sure if I should. I don’t want to give him blood poisoning, by sealing wounds that have not been cleaned properly.”

Going over the available healers, Harry imagined that not one of them would want to treat Lucius Malfoy. They would, of course, because their oath demanded it, but with great reluctance at best. Molly Weasley was the next that came to mind. As a mother of seven, she certainly knew how to treat dirty scratches. Yet, considering the animosity between Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy, Harry did not want to put her in a position where she had to care for someone, who insulted her husband on a regular basis.

Slapping his own forehead, calling himself a fool, Harry pulled away, turning towards Neville, “Could you please bring me my spare robes?”

“Pants as well?”

“Yea,” Harry nodded, trying not to do anything indecent when dragging his least favourite silk boxers over Lucius’ damp legs. They had been a gag-gift from Ginny, bottle-green with little snitches zipping over them. Personally, he preferred a little more support, but right now they were perfect. Neville cast a Levi Corpus and helped to wrestle the spare robe on the still unconscious man. “Where do you want him?”

“Well, our healers are out, and I don’t think that St. Mungos is a good idea either. But as you said, it’s just a few scratches. Most mothers would be proficient at cleaning them. I think I know the right person who would not only be willing, but eager to treat him.”

After a moment, Neville sighed and reached for his robes. “I’m coming with you.”

Hoisting the white-haired man into his arms, Harry spun around, “What? Why?”

“Because” Neville lectured, while opening the door, “Mrs Malfoy is still under house arrest. So, I can guarantee you, that her floo won’t be connected. Since you can’t apparate on the Manor’s grounds, you will be out in the open with your arms full of a known – and let me remind you hated – Death Eater. How do you think it will go, if someone recognises either of you?”

Gratefully, the young Auror smiled at his friend. Neville always knew the direction of Harry’s thoughts, and no matter how risky his decisions, he supported him nine times out of ten. The tenth time, he usually went through the roof, because his partner had, done something incredibly reckless and stupid.

\--O-O--

Mrs Malfoy seemed drawn and tired when she opened her door, nervously waving her fingers together when she recognised Neville’s Auror robes. “Is there a problem, Auror …?”

Usually, Narcissa was a paragon of self-restraint, no doubt an essential virtue, both for a pureblood of high standing, and someone who had been forced to live with Tom. Knowing that her son had yet to return, her obvious anxiety was understandable, so Neville tried to soothe her, “Longbottom, Lady Malfoy. And no, there is no problem. Yet, it might be easier for you to invite us in.”

Blanching, the white-haired Lady recalled, “You are Frank and Alice’s son.”

“I am, but this is no social call concerning my parents, my Lady. This is about Draco’s.” Stepping aside to reveal his partner, with his precious cargo, Neville was ready to reach out and steady the woman, while repeating his request, “Lady Malfoy, may we please come in?”

“Harry, …” she stammered before she recognised her unconscious husband. Barely muffling the sob that tore out of her, but unable to stave off her tears, she hastily opened the door all the way. “Lucius … is he …?”

“No!” Harry hastened to assure her. Placing the slumbering man on the sofa in the entrance hall. “Don’t worry, Mrs Malfoy, he is just,” looking down at his vassal he shrugged a little helplessly. “I guess he is just exhausted and worn out after everything that happened.” Gesturing towards the wound, he recalled. “Neville and I were just worried because he hurt himself and we were not sure how to clean these wounds. So, I thought, as a mother, you might be familiar with such minor injuries.”

The ghost of a smile travelled over the woman’s face, before nodding. “Yes, I may know something that will help. I’ll just have to see if we still have some Arnica Montana growing in our garden.”

To escape the gloomy atmosphere, the hobby herbologist instantly offered, “Why don’t you tell me where they usually grow, and I will get them for you?”

“I’m not sure if there are any blossoms left by which to identify the plant.”

Smiling crookedly, the young man assured her, “I think I will be able to find it, don’t worry. Harry will help you with your husband, and I will bring the leaves momentarily.”

“We …,” she hesitated, clearly torn between staying with Lucius and the horrible idea of using an Auror, whose parents had been tortured to insanity by her own sister, as an errand boy. In the end, it was no decision at all. “Usually Arnica lines the fence of our herbal garden. It’s through the kitchen and then to the right.” Gesturing towards a door at the side, she continued, “Our bedroom is the last door on the second floor.”

\--O-O--

Once Neville had left the oppressing house, he took a liberating breath. He couldn’t imagine living in such a suffocating home. Not even counting all the horrible things Hermione, Luna and Ron had endured in here. When his eyes fell on the neglected herbal garden, his heart broke in sympathy with all the wilting plants. Looking around, he was able to see the grandeur that had once reigned. But years of neglect had taken its toll, especially on nature.

Neville felt like the Dark Magic that had ruled, had sunken into the grounds and it angered him. He and Harry were working so hard to extinguish even the last remnants of Voldemort, but over their task, they had forgotten that humans, wizards and other magical folk were not the only living things that suffered.

Well, there was nothing to be done now. First, they had to take care of Mr Malfoy. Fortunately, Arnica Montana was very resilient, and despite the less than ideal surroundings, Neville managed to pick a few healthy leaves for Lady Malfoy.

\--O-O--

Sitting quietly on the bed beside her husband, clutching his hand, Narcissa Malfoy spoke barely louder than a breath, as to not disturb him. "It seems we are in your debt once again, Mr Potter. I knew that Draco was willing to do something drastic, but to be honest, I had little hope for him to succeed."

"Let's just say, we are even now. You've saved me by declaring me dead, making my victory over Tom possible in the first place."

A strange smile passed over her face, but she didn't turn around. "A known Death Eater only being sentenced to five years in Azkaban. A woman who has hosted the Dark Lord and a boy who had actively aided Voldemort's followers gaining entry to a school, are only sentenced to house arrest? Few wizards could have made that possible, and I can imagine only one, who was willing to speak in our defence. So, no, Mr Potter, I am quite certain that this is not the first service you have done this family. And though I can't imagine why you would go such lengths, especially for us, I am very grateful. Should there be anything I can do, please do not hesitate to tell me."

When she finally turned around, Harry could see the gratitude on her face. Embarrassed he dropped his eyes and asked, "Does Draco know?"

"Of course not; neither does Lucius. Their pride would suffer too much from knowing how deeply we are in your debt."

With a faint smile, he wanted to know, "And yours doesn't?"

Sighing quietly, the Lady gazed at her husband. "Born into the House of Black and married into House Malfoy, as a Lady and a pureblood, of course, it does. But after everything I have lived through, I learned not to put too much value on pride. Pride does not feed you and certainly won't keep your family safe."

Reluctantly Harry approached the bed and leaned against one of the elaborately carved pillars, looking down at his vassal. "I am afraid that you won't be as grateful once you learn the method I had to employ to save your husband. Or the price your son has offered for the mere effort." When she didn't reply, he continued hesitantly. "Your husband and I, … he entered the Rite of Compulsory Surrender, accepting me as his liege for the foreseeable future."

A small nod confirmed that his words had been heard. "I see the token of the Prefugium charm."

When she didn't add anything, Harry forced himself to reveal the full extent of power he now held over the male members of her family. "As for Draco, he … he swore servitude to me, and I kind of accepted his offer. He'll stay with me from now on, help me with Grimmauld Place and S… and everything else I could use a hand with."

When the Lady did not acknowledge his words, the young man started to shift nervously. "Mrs Malfoy, I …"

"Narcissa, please," she interrupted him quietly, her voice thick with tears. "I think the saviour of my family has the right to call me by my name."

"You are not angry?"

Harry could hear her take a shuddering breath and waited patiently for her to regain her composure. When she got up and turned, her posture screamed pureblood, regal and strong, but her eyes betrayed her. Her gratefulness was so evident that the young man wanted to pull away.

"Lucius is a good husband and always tried to bring honour and glory to his house, just like his father taught him. But he tended to make the wrong choices when going about it. He needs a guiding influence, that is not ruthless and cruel. My husband was a good man once. But I am afraid he will need a lot of help to remember that. As for Draco, he tried his best to be strong and supportive. But everything that has happened, especially everything that has happened here, he seems to be slowly breaking. I know that he barely sleeps at night and that he tears himself apart over his inability to support us by growing food. No matter how menial the task you have for him, he will thrive if he can succeed for once. So, no, my Lord, nothing could be further from the truth than me being angry with you."

"Harry," he croaked, shivering all of a sudden. "My name is Harry. Please, don't call me 'my Lord', I'm not Him. All I want to do is help."

"Harry." She confirmed, gently reaching for his hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

Only now did the enormity of what he had done catch up with him. Sure, he had been the boy−who−lived, destined to become the saviour−of−the−wizarding−world, but mostly he had fought Voldemort because the man had been determined to kill him. In the end, it had always been self−defence. Now all of a sudden, he was responsible for the well−being of two men, two men he had been convinced to hate barely five years ago. What if he made a mistake? Two lives were at stake; three if he counted Mrs. … Narcissa. Clutching her fingers, Harry started trembling in earnest. Quietly he choked, "I just wanted to help. What if I mess this up? I allowed him to get hurt already, oh my god!"

"Harry, …" Draco's mother probed gently. When he didn't react but continued to babble nonsense, she used her 'mother−voice'. "Young man, look at me!"

When anxious, green eyes met hers, Narcissa was reminded, that Harry Potter actually was the same age as her boy. Barely twenty−two, he was used to carrying the weight of their world on his shoulders. Yet this time, no prophecy forced him on a specific path. This time he was free to make his own choices. "Listen to me. You, Harry, will certainly make mistakes." Holding his hands in a forceful grip, she continued, "As will Lucius and Draco and even me, because we are all human and we make mistakes. But you are no Dark Lord so we all will advise you. What you do with our suggestions is up to you. But you certainly are not alone in this. Do you understand?"

Nodding embarrassed, Harry brushed over his face. He was an Auror for heaven's sake, he should not be losing his composure that easily. Avoiding her eyes, he mumbled, "I'm sorry." What a brilliant impression. The man who was responsible for her family's well−being bawling his eyes out within an hour of meeting her.

"Don't be," Narcissa replied easily, letting him go. Preparing everything she would need to treat her husband's minor wounds, she reminded him, "You have put a heavy burden on your shoulders today. It is expected of you to need support on occasion. And as I said before, I would be honoured to offer it."

−−O−O−−

A soft knock on the door indicated Neville's return, and while the Lady cared for her husband, the Aurors slipped out.

Folding his arms, the brown−haired wizard demanded, "Care to share your plans with the class?"

Fidgeting with the sleeves of his robe, Harry avoided his partner's gaze.

"Come on," Neville snapped. "We've been on enough raids to recognise a home where darkness reigned. This house feels like a tomb of dark magic, and don't you think I recognise dried blood, even if it had seeped into the floor? I can't imagine you feeling comfortable enough here, to get some work done. I also doubt that the Malfoys feel comfortable living with you at Grimmauld Place, for an extended amount of time."

"You're right," Harry admitted. "I blackmailed Jenkins into sending over cleaning supplies tomorrow at seven, along with the Malfoys remaining house elves or a team of people to help us."

"You can't get rid of such stains with magic."

"I know! Remember, I needed nearly seven months to clean my own house."

Softly his friend scolded, "Because you wouldn't ask for help."

"And I won't do so now either!" The raven-haired snapped. "Or do you think Hermione, Luna or Ron will feel particularly inclined to scrub the floors in a place where they have been tortured?"

"You were tortured here as well."

With a sigh, Harry sank against the wall. "I've been tortured at so many places, it hardly matters. But you are right about one thing, the Malfoys can't stay here until we have cleaned the place. Kreacher!"

"Yes, Sir," the house−elf bowed subserviently.

"How's Draco?"

"The young Master Malfoy has tried to sort through the library but fell asleep an hour into the task. Do you want him awake and put to work again?" The elf's dismissive tone made clear how little he thought of that idea, despite offering it.

"No," Harry decided. "He needs the sleep. But tell me, would it be possible for you to freshen up the second guest room and prepare a light dinner?"

With big eyes, Kreacher looked around, "Will the noble Lord and Lady Malfoy stay with us, Sir?"

Nodding, he confirmed, "For the next seven days at least. You know where Lord Malfoy has been. We will need a meal he can stomach. Narcissa and Draco are little better off."

Throwing a scrutinising look at Harry, then at the door of the master bedroom, Kreacher bowed so low, his nose nearly touched the ground and promised. "I will make sure that Master and Mistress will feel comfortable in our home." Then he vanished.

"You have the strangest relationship with your elf. You are aware that Kreacher calls you 'Sir' but purebloods like the Malfoys 'Master' and 'Mistress'? At the same time, he identifies Grimmauld Place as your home. There is no rhyme or reason to that."

Chuckling under his breath, Harry admitted, "Kreacher and I had a rather … rocky start. When I offered him clothes after moving in, he wouldn't talk to me for a week. After noticing that I was cleaning the house by hand, he started helping. I think he forced himself to accept that I am the last Master he will ever get, and that Grimmauld Place is my home; while at the same time not thinking that I am worth the position since I am but a half−blood.

"Anyway, I'll try to sort this out, Neville. Roberts gave me the next week off, but I'll floo you, alright?"

Shaking his head, Neville pulled his partner into a fierce hug. "You never do anything the easy way. Fine, I'll hold the office while you sort out this mess. But remember, Harry, you still have a job. Eventually, you will have to find an occupation for Mr Malfoy where he is not in danger of being strangled on sight."

"I know," Harry groaned, tussling his unruly hair even more. "Believe me, Neville, I know."

−−O−O−−

"Am I dead?"

"Not yet, my love."

"Am I dreaming?"

With a low chuckle, Narcissa pinched him. "What do you think?"

"Narcissa," Lucius breathed out, capturing her hand after she had finished bandaging his wrist and pulled it to his mouth with shaking fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut while kissing her palm reverently. "Your fingers are cold as ice," Lucius whispered, pulling her into the bed before wrapping himself around her. With a little difficulty, he dragged up the duvet to cover their entirely clad forms.

Quietly she revealed, "Firewood is not part of the budget until November."

Barely able to suppress a shiver, the man kissed the back of her head before pulling her close. "I am sorry, my love. So very sorry."

−−O−O−−

After Neville had left, Harry peeked into the master bedroom, before closing the door soundlessly. These two deserved a little lie in. After the excitement of the day, Harry felt downright exhausted himself. Maybe he should grab a little snack and then catch a nap. Yet, when he entered the kitchen, his hopes for a relaxing afternoon vanished. One loaf of stale bread, a small stick of butter, some wrinkled carrots and half a pinch of salt was the contents of the Malfoy's pantry. Taking a deep breath, Harry shrugged off his Auror robes and in but black jeans and a dark grey button−down, he left the building.

Rummaging through his money pouch, he scraped together seventeen pounds and twelve pence. Grateful for his habit of carrying muggle money, Harry made his way to the next Tesco. Going over the supplies the Malfoys would receive the next day, he filled his shopping cart with tea, spices, canned fruits and vegetables, as well as a big jar of honey. From Mrs Weasley, Harry had learned about the multiple beneficial uses of honey, both for healing and for cooking. As an afterthought, he added a small package of milk−powder as well. Though not as good as the 'real thing', he and Neville always had a jar at the office, for when they forgot to buy milk for their tea. Something that occurred more often than they would ever admit.

Passing a wizard's tea shop on his way back, Harry bought himself some couscous salad and a strong coffee, before returning to the Manor. He started to heat up some canned tomato soup and cursed a blue streak when the oven turned off every two bloody minutes.

"Maybe, Sir should let Kreacher do the cooking."

"Heaven and Earth," Harry whipped around, wand ready. "Do you **have to** scare me like that?"

"No, Sir," the elf replied drily. "Kreacher does not **have to**."

Knowing that he would not win this particular argument, Harry stepped back, but mumbled irritated, "The Dursleys had me cook for them since I started elementary school. I am absolutely able to heat canned soup!"

"Not on this stove." Kreacher had inspected the huge metal contraption for a few moments, before stating, "It will not work for anybody but Mistress."

Rubbing away his oncoming head−ache, Harry sighed. "To bring her down, she must do her own cooking, with substandard food that is never enough. As if locking away her husband and forcing her to live in this awful place is not punishment already. Fine, warm soup is still better than nothing."

With a look that told Harry precisely what Kreacher thought of this, the elf snapped his fingers, and a tray with pristine, white plates appeared on the kitchen table. Picking up the pot, Kreacher distributed the now steaming soup equally between the pre−heated dishes. "Sir wants to drink his tea now."

Picking up the cup that had appeared before him, Harry noticed that it was the herbal mixture Luna had created for him to starve off stress−headaches. When he looked up to thank his house-elf, Kreacher was already gone. Neville may be right, his and Kreacher's relationship was strange, but he was taken care of. What more could he want?

"Narcissa, Lucius," Harry whispered placing the tray of soup on the bedside table. When the couple hastily tried to free themselves from the comforter, obviously embarrassed to be caught in such an intimate position, he stilled their movements. "Relax, please. We still have time before we leave for Grimmauld Place. I just thought you two should eat something."

Undoubtedly familiar with the supply of food − or lack thereof − available in the house, Narcissa wanted to know. "How …?"

Yet the young man interrupted her quietly. "Let me care about the how for the next few days. Eat your soup. I will wake you up around six, so you have time to prepare yourselves before we depart."

−−O−O−−

Leaving for one of the lower salons, Harry cast a Tempus and set an alarm spell, so he would not miss dinner. He had just stretched out on a plush sofas when there was a loud knocking on the door. Determined to strangle whoever took time away from his nap, he threw the door open, only to come face to face with a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Daphne Greengrass, who had started her training in the Inquisition Squad about the same time, Harry had begun his Auror training.

"Greengrass."

"Potter."

They nodded at each other, while the gangly wizard, who she was accompanying, read from his parchment in a nasal voice. "At 3:52 p.m. the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has registered the use of magic at Malfoy Manor. Since the local residents are either forbidden or not in possession of a wand, we can only conclude that a violation of the rules of Mistress Narcissa Malfoy's house−arrest has occurred. Hence, under paragraph …"

"New?" Harry asked.

"Brand new," Daphne confirmed, rolling her eyes.

"Do you think he will look up anytime soon?"

"Not before he's through."

Despite her parents being convicted Death Eaters, Daphne had put a lot of work into earning her place in the Inquisition Squad, and while Harry did not necessarily like her, he respected her devotion and never-ending effort to find the truth.

Once the gangly wizard was finished reciting the last paragraph, he looked up. His scroll and jaw hit the floor about the same time. "Y…, y…, y…"

"You?" Daphne suggested.

"R…, r…, r…"

"Are?" Harry supplied.

"Har…, Har…, Har…"

"Harriette, Arlington Wainsworth the Third?" Daphne proposed in a straight tone.

"Harriette?" The raven−haired Auror raised an eyebrow at her, but she just shrugged with a barely concealed grin.

"Harry Potter!" The young wizard finally forced out.

"Nothing eludes your cunning eyes," Harry smiled. "And since I am sure you will find that I have cast the Tempus as well as the alarm spell, we can put this unfortunate matter behind us in an instant. Inquisitor Greengrass, would you do the honours?" He handed over his wand.

"Priori Incantato." She cast before dictated. "Please note that the spells that had set off the alarms were cast with the wand of Mr Harry Potter, 11" of holly with a phoenix feather at its core?" When the owner of the wand confirmed that, she gave it back and continued, "Since no violation of the terms of the Malfoys' house arrest has occurred, we can close this investigation. A report will be filed, and two copies will be sent to your department, Mr Potter. One for you and one for the Malfoys' gamekeeper."

"Thank you."

Before closing the door, a thought occurred to him. "Since I'll help clean this place to get rid of Voldemort's stench, I imagine that we will see each other very soon. If you bring milk, I'll offer tea to make up for the inconvenience."

"You will …," she gapped for a second, before turning towards young man by her side. "Mr Fairchild, why don't you return to headquarters and start on the paperwork. I will be with you momentarily."

When the young man did not move, she nudged him down the stairs and ushered him on, until he passed the gate. Once he was gone, she turned around and folded her arms before her chest, glaring at Harry. "Alright, Potter, spill! What's going on here?"

Drooping his head, because he had learned that Daphne was the kind of witch that always got her way, the Auror took a steeling breath before suggesting, "Do you want to come in?"

"No, I want an explanation! Draco is my friend and whatever concerns his family, concerns him as well. Since his father is still in Azkaban, that can only mean something has happened to his mother. Now tell!"

"Fine," he gave in, "Today, just before seven, Draco came to my door, requesting my help because he had learned that his father was about to be sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss."

"What the … but he was supposed to get out in ten months!" Daphne snarled angrily, but Harry just raised his hand. This was hard enough without an enraged Daphne cutting him off. "Hermione, Luna, Ron and I got the Wizengamot to reconsider his sentence since it had been us who had been imprisoned and tortured here five years ago." Forcefully pushing away these memories, he made himself soldier on. "Mr Malfoy agreed to enter the Rite of Compulsory Surrender with me, and since I am now responsible for him, I imagine I will spend some quality time here."

"Wow, that's tough," Daphne mumbled before plastering a fake smile on her face. "Anyway, see you tomorrow, Potter. Have fun with your vassal." Then she skipped down the steps and vanished as soon as the gate had fallen shut behind her.

"Slytherins are so weird," Harry mumbled to himself, before finally returning to his nap.

−−O−O−−

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing his son pale, with sunken in eyes, sleeping fitfully on the couch, Lucius had frozen. Once again crushed by the visible evidence of his mistakes. All he had ever wanted was to help the Malfoy name to greatness, as his father had always expected of him. How could he have gone so wrong about that?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Draco woke the next morning, he could not remember what had happened. Everything seemed to be a combination of dreams and memories, with no way for him to decide what had happened and what had been in his head. And while the comforter on the other side of the bed was churned, nothing else indicated that someone had slept there. Also, he had sworn Kreacher to secrecy, when the elf had come to his aid when the first nightmare had hit. There was nothing to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a little social interaction and setting the stage before the story can pick up speed full force. I know, 20.000 words of 'introduction' are quite long but bear with me. It will be worth it ;).  
> Like last time, thank you topgngoose for helping me to beta this chapter. All remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

When Harry reached the second landing, Narcissa was just leaving the master bedroom. "My husband will need a few more minutes."

"Of course." Harry smiled and indicated a small bow before entering the master bedroom. He found the former Lord of the Manor in front of the mirror fidgeting with the intricate buttons of his dress−shirt. Closing his eyes in frustration, the man pressed his hands together to keep them from shaking.

Debating with himself if he should give his vassal some privacy, the decision was taken from him when Lucius turned around and bowed his head. "My Lord."

"Don't call me that!" Harry snapped. All of this, the house, this situation, the very air of the Manor was getting to him. So being called that particular honorific was just too much at the moment.

Surprised by the unexpected anger, Lucius lowered his eyes and hunched his shoulders. "Apologies, Master."

"Harry! My name is Harry, as you very well know. Can you use it, for once?"

Fighting with himself to straighten his posture, as was expected of a pureblood, Lucius looked up and shook his head. "By our laws, my life and fate are yours to command. Therefore, it would be highly inappropriate to address you by your first name. Any witness would consider it an act of disrespect, even rebellion. I, however, am grateful for what you have done. And I will do my best to let my behaviour reflect that, my liege."

"I know," Harry sighed, tugging at his unruly hair. "You are right of course. Thank you for reminding me. But would you consider 'my liege' appropriate addressing when we are out and 'Harry' when we're amongst ourselves? It sounds far less demeaning, don't you think?"

Cautiously, Lucius tilted his head. "As you wish … Harry." Turning back towards the mirror, feeling strangely content to have satisfied his master, Lucius finally managed to close the last two buttons. His complexion was grey, his eyes bloodshot and his hair brittle and dry. Still, the hot shower and decent clothes, made him feel a hundred times better. Judging his appearance in the mirror, he opened the top buttons of his dress−shirt until the chain Potter had conjured became visible. It would do him no good to hide his new status. He might have been a Lord before, but now he was little more than property. Better to come to terms with that as soon as possible. There was no place for pureblood−pride in his life.

As if reading his thoughts, his liege spoke up. "Lucius, I have an order for you."

Turning around, Lucius presented his palms and offered a bow while speaking the traditional words of the vassal. "Master mine, my will is thine. Tell me what you desire." He could see the young man wanting to protest, but soon he realised that this was a ritual he had not known before. Indicating towards a small suite in front of the fireplace, Harry took one armchair and waited for the older man to claim the other before speaking, somewhat hesitant. "Listen, I know you have been … away for quite some time. So, you might have no idea about the tolls Tom and everything that followed had on Draco. What I want from you tonight, is for you to be honest with your son. NO hiding, no pureblood pride and no Slytherin masks. When facing your child, share your true feelings. He needs you in more ways than you can imagine, and he had long stopped to be the spoiled child who ran to his larger−than−life father for him to make everything right again. He sold his freedom to help you and will go any length to support you, no matter the cost. But for him to be able to go through with that, to keep his strength while helping you regain yours, he needs his father back. The man in whose love, he believed unconditionally. Do you think you can do that for him?"

Entirely taken aback by the amount of thought Potter had given his son … his former rival … Lucius forced out, "I'll do my best." And all of a sudden, his appearance, complexion or hair could not matter less. Sweeping from his room, he hastened to search for Narcissa so they could leave for Grimmauld Place.

−−O−O−−

"Draco, darling, you have to wake up."

After side−along apparating the Malfoys to Grimmauld Place, Harry had directed them towards the library, before retreating.

Seeing his son pale, with sunken in eyes, sleeping fitfully on the couch, Lucius froze, once again mortified by the visible evidence of his mistakes. All he had ever wanted was to help the Malfoy name to greatness, as his father had brought him up to do. How could he have gone so wrong about that?

"Mother?" Draco mumbled sleepily before shooting up from the couch wide awake. "Mother! Are you alright? What happened? Did someone hurt you?"

Capturing her son's hands, that ran frantically over her body to discover a potential injury, she stilled him with a kiss on the forehead. "Be at ease, Draco, everything turned out fine." She then stepped aside, so her son stood face to face with his father.

A thousand emotions ran over Draco's face too fast for Lucius to identify. The last that would not be suppressed was a desperate relief. His boy fought for composure like Lucius would have expected of him once upon a time. But today, Draco's pain and joy could not be contained. Everything broke out of him when he sobbed a single word. "Father!"

Before he realised, what he was doing, Lucius pulled his only child into his arms, holding together his trembling body when Draco soaked his clothes with tears. "My son," he whispered against the blond head, squeezing his eyes shut against the overwhelming pain he had caused. "I am so sorry." When his boy quivered even stronger at that, he pulled him in, looking at his wife, but Narcissa just shook her head. Her satisfied smile, lit up her face, despite her eyes shining with unshed tears. It seemed that Draco did not need anything but this; a father that was once again with him. Lucius' eyes followed her when she slipped out, leaving the two of them to their reunion.

Once his son had regained his composure, he tried to pull back, but Lucius held on to him until Draco relaxed, hugging him fiercely. After a few more minutes, the former prisoner guided them towards the sofa and tried to collect his thoughts. Potter had already chosen his course of action and seeing his son, Lucius knew him to be right. Draco deserved nothing short of the absolute and complete truth.

"Draco?"

"Yes, father?" The boy replied eagerly. "What do you need?"

With a weak smile, the former Lord pondered, "A new beginning. But to start anew, we first have to overcome our past." When his son lowered his head, clearly ashamed of something the man could not even remotely fathom, he nudged his chin up. "First, let me tell you, how very proud I am. Proud of everything you have done to keep our family safe. Thank you for the sacrifices you were willing to make on my behalf."

"Father, I …"

But Lucius held up his hand. "I made a mistake, many of them in fact. My desire for power and glory made me follow a madman, and our family has suffered for it. It could have cost the lives of all of us, and more than once, it seemed like it might. Considering this grim prospect, let us be grateful that only our freedom has been taken and that your mother is still unharmed."

"What do you mean ' **our** freedom'?"

"Potter told me about the price you offered for his help."

Lowering his eyes, ashamed once again, Draco mumbled, "It was the only thing I had left."

"Draco, I willingly entered the Rite of Compulsory Surrender. So, once again, we will both serve the same master. Just this time, he is not vicious, sadistic and insane."

He met Draco's evaluating gesture at his last statement with a barked laugh. "Let us say, he is mostly sane. After all, he is helping a family that held him captive once."

"That was not our choice," his son mumbled, but his father brushed away the excuse. "It still happened in our home, so we will do our best to make it up to him. I have, as of now, no clue about how I can best serve him, but from now on, we will look to the future and thrive to become better men than we were in the past."

−−O−O−−

Having just left the library, Narcissa came face to … well, she actually had to look down at the house elf that had served the Black−family for nearly a century. She could not help her smile since he, despite being considerably older than the last time she had seen him, still wore the same grumpy expression she remembered, "Kreacher."

"Mistress Narcissa," bowing low and respectfully, he added, "Sir is spying in the living−room, would you like to join him? Kreacher would be honoured to serve Mistress tea."

Pondering over the absurd description of his owner's activities, she followed the elf, finding Harry doing precisely as Kreacher had predicted. The young man was kneeling in a corner, hovering next to what seemed to be a heating shaft. Kreacher drew his attention by mumbling under his breath, "Graceless half−blood, kneeling in a dusty corner of his own home. Undignified wizard!"

Instantly the wizard in question shot to his feet, his cheeks burning while he stuttered, "Lady Malfoy, … I mean, Narcissa, … I, … ahm … would you like some tea?"

Barely able to suppress a chuckle, she tilted her head. "Yes, please."

Shuffling into the room, Kreacher put the tray down and prepared the first tea with but a splash of milk and a second with a lot of it and a heap of sugar while grumbling under his breath.  "Mistress Walburga trained her house elves. No elf of the Black family would disgrace the family by being inattentive towards guests."

Harry but rolled his eyes at the thinly conveyed insult, apparently not bothered by the rudeness his elf displayed. Not even when Kreacher asked, "Where would Mistress like to take her tea?"

Maybe it was the outlook for a proper cup that didn't taste bitter or stale. Or the irritation by the house-elf's disrespect, that had Narcissa reach out for the cups, handing one to Harry while deciding. "We will take our tea in the dusty corner. You may leave." She then gracefully sank to the floor, draping her skirt over her legs before taking a delicate sip.

Harry wondered what inborn magic the Lady Malfoy possessed to look so regal, even when sitting on the floor. At her expecting look, he sat down cross−legged in front of her. "The floor is not really dusty, you know. Kreacher cleans obsessively six times a week."

"One thing he does right," she remarked before gesturing towards the pipes. "Well, go on then. I want to know what my husband and child are talking about."

Opening the latch for the central heating, the young man grinned sheepishly, before taking to his own beverage.

After a while, the Lady remarked, "It is not his place to talk like that."

Taking her empty cup, returning it to the table with but a flick of his fingers, Harry sighed. "That's not the only thing here that is out of place. But Kreacher and I have an understanding. He takes care of me when I don't, and in return, I preserve the memories of his family to the best of my abilities."

"He doesn't call you master," she censored in an even tone.

"Because I'm not."

Confused, Narcissa shook her head. "You are cousin Sirius' godson. How could you be anything but? With me being married into another noble house and all the others dead, you are the only one with the right to inherit."

"Andromeda is still alive," Harry reminded her. "So is Teddy."

Closing her eyes for a moment, the pureblood recalled, "Andromeda was married, so she can't inherit the Blacks' heirlooms. Your godson Edward, … well, he might, depending if you have children on your own or not." Clearing her throat, she allowed Harry to help her to her feet. "Anyway, Kreacher should be more respectful. His behaviour would reflect badly on you in certain company."

Shrugging, Harry brushed that concern aside. "I rarely entertain company outside of my friends in this house. As for Sirius … his mother burned his name out of the family tree. I doubt that there is any room for me, because of that." Seeing the Lady frown, Harry promised, "I will show you tomorrow. But now we should go to the dining room. I think your husband and son are in dire need of a hearty meal."

They all were, but Narcissa was grateful that her host refrained from pointing that out.

−−O−O−−

Lucius and Draco looked like a burden had been lifted off their shoulders. Not exactly happy, but better than before. Narcissa hugged her son before allowing her husband to pull out a chair for her. Though he tried to contain himself, everybody could see how much joy Lucius took by being able to perform that simple task.

As was proper, Kreacher had positioned the Malfoy family at the end of the table, with Lucius at the small side with Narcissa and Draco framing him. Harry, as always, occupied his chair at the head of the table, leaving a good fifteen feet between the attendants of this dinner. When everybody was seated, he looked at the distant Malfoy family and suddenly could not contain his laughter at the absurdity of the situation. The stress of the last twelve hours finally found an outlet, and when the Malfoys joined him with chuckles of their own, he only laughed harder until tears streamed down his cheeks. Pulling out his wand, he gestured for them to step back before casting, "Deminuere."

He ended the spell, once the table had room for four people, instead of fourteen, the dishes now evenly distributed on the polished surface. With an absent-minded gesture, Harry banished the other chairs to the back of the dining room before inviting his guests, "Please, take your seats."

"What if your friends come over?" Draco wanted to know.

Harry, just brushed that concern away. "Then I'll expand it again, but we almost always use the kitchen these days. I guess Kreacher just had a conniption at the thought of a member of the most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy eating at a kitchen−table."

Looking down at his place, the blond mumbled, "Mother and I mostly eat in the kitchen these days. It's the only room that's warm."

Harry wanted to reach out but did not think that Draco would appreciate the gesture. So, he merely shrugged. "We will see about that tomorrow."

Pressing his lips together, Draco nodded and concentrated on the soup that started to fill his plate. The light vegetable−soup was followed by trout with rosemary potatoes and vanilla cream for dessert. An assortment of cheese, along with some tiny buns appeared on Harry's plate, while the Malfoys enjoyed their sweets. Since he tended to visit Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes several times a week, Harry rarely enjoyed sweets at home. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Draco longingly watch the cream−cheese with fresh dill Kreacher had chosen for him tonight. So he prepared a small roll with a healthy serving while announcing, "Auror Jenkins and I agreed that your monthly delivery will arrive tomorrow at seven." Putting the bread on Draco's plate without even glancing at the blond, he continued fixing another roll for himself. "If you are agreeable to take breakfast at six, I will apparate us to the Manor around seven. That should give us enough time."

The former Lord and Lady Malfoy never looked away from Harry's face during that announcement, never sneaking a peek at their son, who tentatively reached out for the treat on his plate and chewed it with a blissful expression on his face. "I'm afraid we are not exactly prepared for an overnight stay," Narcissa admitted, squeezing Harry's hand under the table. "But maybe your house elf would be willing to remedy that."

"Kreacher!"

Shuffling into the room, vanishing the used dishes with but a snap of his fingers, the elf bowed, "You yelled for Kreacher, Sir?"

"Yes, please go to the Manor and gather the necessities for our guests."

"Immediately, Sir."

When Lucius fought hard to contain a yawn, Harry rose from his seat and suggested, "It certainly was an exciting and trying day for all of us. Why don't we call it a night?"

Dutifully, and secretly grateful, the Malfoys rose and bade him good night, before retreating upstairs.

−−O−O−−

Somehow it felt wrong to brood in front of the tapestry, as per usual. So, Harry took only a bottle of water from the fridge and retreated to the second bedroom on his floor. Taking care of the basics, like cleaning and nutritious potions first, the young man then changed the sheets and started the physical exercises the medi−witch had taught him. After an hour, where everything was − not unexpectedly − precisely like before, Harry curled up on the windowsill. In moments like this, he missed Hedwig so much it hurt. But now his only conversationalist was someone, who would in all likeliness, never again reply. Maybe it was better this way. It was not as if the two of them had traded anything but insults in the past.

"I got him out. Lucius, I mean. It's possible that I made a mistake there, but you should have seen Draco when he asked me for help this morning. He was falling apart. Maybe Lucius Malfoy, the Death Eater, deserved the Dementor's Kiss, but Draco's dad didn't. He made mistakes in the past, violent, horrible mistakes, and he needs to pay for them. But killing him would achieve nothing. Certainly not for his family. And I refuse, after everything he had done in the end, to believe him beyond redemption.

"Draco sold his life to me, in exchange for my intervention. Am I a horrible person for being glad that he did that? At least I can keep him here now, instead of sending him back to that horrible place. You should have seen him when he talked about returning to the Manor. It was not even 'home' anymore. I had only seen him this distraught twice, once when I saved him from the fiend−fire and before that … well, you know what happened then. You saved his life after all. Did I ever thank you for that? I always thought that using your spell made you responsible. Now I know that I was just like my dad … like James Potter, careless, even cruel without any concern for the consequences of my actions. I understand now why you hated him so much. Still, I was but a stupid child and had you not been there, I would have become a killer. So … I'm sorry and … thank you, for saving Draco. And for looking out for me, I guess."

Looking over, starring at a man who hadn't moved in five years, Harry slipped from the window−sill and approached the bed. Carefully, he pulled up the blanket and then gently brushed a strand of dark hair out of the comatose patient's face. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Good night, Sir."

Then he quietly left the room, specially adapted to the needs of a man who − against all expectations − had survived Nagini's bite. But as it was so often the case, Harry was not content with the people he cared about merely surviving. He wanted the man to live again. The problem was he didn't have the slightest clue how to achieve that.

−−O−O−−

He had just put his book on counter−curses − one of Hermione's most brilliant presents as of late − when Kreacher popped into his room. Confused when the elf didn't say anything, he wanted to know. "Is there a problem?"

A slow tilt of the head.

"Care to share it?"

Another nod.

Tired of this game already, Harry growled, "Would you tell me already?"

He was surprised when the elf decidedly shook his head and left the room through the door!

Irritated, the young wizard followed, but only managed to catch up at the bottom of the stairs. Harry reached for the pillow−case Kreacher wore and demanded, "I'm not in the mood for games. Either tell me what is wrong or sod off!"

But the house−elf merely looked at him, his big eyes full of concern. That was the moment, Harry heard it: a suppressed sob, intermingled with quiet whimpers. Slowly he let go of Kreacher and turned towards the noise, understanding dawning. "He told you not to tell anybody."

A vigorous nod confirmed his suspicions.

"At one point, we really have to talk about your loyalties!" But it was no use, and they both knew it. Kreacher's loyalties lay with the last blood−related descendants of the Black family. For the time being: Draco and Narcissa Malfoy.

−−O−O−−

When Harry entered the guest−room, he found Draco tossing and turning in his bed. The noises of anguish were muffled yet sounded all the more heart−breaking from up close. It was as if the blond had learned not to show any distress, not even in his sleep. But some of it was too strong to be contained and slipped past his defences. Harry stepped up to the bed and gently shook the young man's shoulders. "Draco, wake up, you're having a nightmare."

Seeker reflexes helped him to catch the sleeper's hand when they took a swing at him with a barely suppressed shout. "Calm down, it's me, Harry."

"Potter?" Draco mumbled, still half asleep despite sitting up. "Potter! You need to get away. Run! He'll be back. He'll always come back, stronger and more horrible than before! You won't stand a chance." A sob tore itself free of the man's throat when he chocked, "Dumbledore, Severus, they paid for resisting him with their lives. Dad will be next. You have to get away from us! Save yourself, or he'll kill you!"

He was now clutching Harry's arm. Fingers digging into the bare skin hard enough to leave marks. Harry, however, couldn't care less. Soothingly, he promised, "Voldemort won't come back. We've made sure of that. Hermione, Ron, even Neville! I promise. He is gone and will never bother you or your family ever again!"

Tears started streaming down Draco's face when the blond let go and curled up against the head−board, covering his head with his arms protectively. "You don't understand. He always comes back. It will never be over. I can feel him. In the walls of the Manor, in everything he has touched. He is still there, always around us and he swore … **swore** that he would come back, again and again, and again, until he has won!"

Harry could not even imagine how it had to be to live with such conviction. To never find rest, because your nightmares tainted your every waking moment, everything you loved and promised retribution with his dying breath. He had to prove to Draco once and for all that there was no chance in hell for Tom Marvollo Riddle to ever come back. But sadly, not every wizard was capable of Leglimency. A pensive was out as well because Harry didn't have one. There would be too many memories to sort through anyway. Rubbing his face, watching the distraught young man, who seemed eager to meld with the head−board, a thought occurred to him.

"Draco," he whispered, slipping onto the bed, closer to the blond. "Draco, look at me, please." When the young man lifted his head anxiously, Harry gently reached for him and brushed away his tears. "I need you to do something for me." At a half−enthusiastic nod, he continued, "You know Occlumency, right? I need you to occlude and push me out with all your strength." Before Draco could work up another panic, when Harry pulled his wand, the raven−haired was already casting, "Legilimens!"

Draco's resistance was instinctual and stronger than the Auror had anticipated. Living with the Dark Lord seemed to have improved the blond's abilities significantly. Harry mused that there really was no other way for him to have protected his sanity. So, it was easy for Harry to let go of his own token−resistance and allow Draco to enter his mind. He pulled carefully selected memories to the front of his mind for the other man to read.

  * "Professor Slughorn, I wonder if you could tell me what a Horcrux is …"
  * "Lord Voldemort is my past, present and future self! Or do you think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever?"
  * Dumbledore's hand, black and charred because he had put on the Gaunt-ring recklessly.
  * The locket of Salazar Slytherin, weighting Harry and his friends down, making them fight amongst each other until Ron had left.
  * Helga Hufflepuff's cup in Harry's grasp while around them useless treasure multiplied, burning him and his friends.
  * The Room of Hidden Things, where Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem had sat unnoticed for centuries.
  * Harry hugging Hermione before he turned away to die. "Kill the snake. Kill the snake, and it's only him."
  * A dark forest. Harry whispering a question more befitting for a scared child than a warrior. "Does it hurt?"  
The loving assurances of the ghost of a man he had had too little time with, "Dying? Not at all. Quicker than falling asleep."  
**"Avada Kedavra"**
  * A flash of green light. Kings Cross. A place where he had heard nothing but the pitiful whimpers of the last piece of a mad man's soul. The chance to go on but turning back because, "Of course this is all in your head, Harry. But why on earth would that make it any less real?"



Reality was what you made of it, but to see clearly, you had to have all the facts. The only thing, Harry had to offer to ease Draco's nightmares was the truth. Hopefully, it would be enough.

When the blond pulled back, he blinked. Slowly working through Harry's memories. Draco did not move, did not even pull back from where he was still clutching the wrist of Harry's wand−arm, in a desperate attempt to keep him from casting. "He's really dead," Draco whispered after a while, looking up at Harry with a reverence he had never shown before. "You didn't just kill him … you destroyed his soul."

The only sign of his overflowing emotions were his fingers clutching Harry's arm repeating. "He's really gone … it's over." Then, when the conviction started to sink in, Draco began to tremble, tears falling down his cheeks.

Pulling the other man against his chest, Harry let him ride out wave after wave of overflowing emotions. The room around them started to shake, and Harry cast a Silencio to keep his other guests from waking. Sure, Narcissa and Lucius would want to help, but Draco was his responsibility now. Caressing the blond's head when the shaking let up, Harry eased him under the covers, not getting up when, even in his exhausted state, Draco held on to his wrist like a lifeline.

Sliding down into a lying position, Harry accioed another blanket from the wardrobe and settled in for the night. He doubted that this would remain the only incident to disturb his slumber in the upcoming weeks.

−−O−O−−

When Draco woke the next morning, he could not remember what had happened. Everything seemed to be a combination of dreams and memories, with no way for him to decide what had happened and what had been in his head. And while the comforter on the other side of the bed was churned, nothing else indicated that someone had slept there. Also, he had sworn Kreacher to secrecy, when the elf had come to his aid when the first nightmare had hit. There was nothing to worry about.

After a quick shower, Draco could not afford to waste hot water, that would be unsuitable, he brushed back his hair and studied his reflection. Though in the past, he had given much thought to his appearance, over the last four years, he had gotten used to seeing a gaunt and grey face looking back at him. No wonder, since he had learned to function on about four hours of sleep each night. Nightmares as a bi−nightly occurrence did not make for restorative recovery.

Today, however, things were not as bad, and for the first time in ages, Draco did not feel dead on his feet. He dabbed a little of the herbal essence his mother had managed to extract from plants in their gardens on his pale face and went to search for some of the clothes Kreacher had to have brought. When he could not find fresh robes or his trunk, he started to open drawers and the wardrobe. He was taken aback when he noticed a good part of his wardrobe freshly washed and pressed, available for his convenience.

Draco felt both relieved and disturbed when his mind caught up with reality. He was about to live here, at Potter's command, twenty−four hours a day, seven days a week. The thought was daunting. On the other hand, despite his father being with them again, he would rather live at Grimmauld Place and not in a house where a mad−man had poisoned the very air. And that idea was utterly exhilarating.

−−O−O−−

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Lucius, put that down!" Harry ordered forcefully when he recognised the markings on the cup in his vassal's hand. Contrary to the pure−blood, he could identify the drink by the code on the side.  
> As a result of his years of service to the Dark Lord, the white−haired man did not even startle when setting down the cup. Only the slight trembling of his hands betrayed his distress when he tilted his head and stated, "Forgive me, my Lord."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fine, so, the truth is: you don't deserve this; any leniency at all. You captured and tortured me, my friends, and probably countless others in service to your Lord. Though we have never been able to prove it, you might have killed innocent people as well. Lucius Malfoy was a bastard who deserved to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Maybe, even receive the Dementor's Kiss." Looking up, Harry noticed that the other man's posture had not changed one bit. His face was frozen, and only the interwoven fingers over his knee betrayed him. He was clutching them so tightly, that his entire hands had gone white.

When Draco entered the dining room, he found it cold and empty. After a little exploration, he spotted Potter in the kitchen, staring bleary-eyed into a cup of coffee.

"Good morning."

"Hm …" was the monosyllabic reply. Still, Draco chose to interpret the absent−minded wave as an invitation to sit. Kreacher was by his side in an instant.

"What may I serve you, Master Draco?"

Unsure of which liberties to take, the blond looked at Harry for help, but the young man appeared to have dozed off again. He was saved by his parents, who entered the homey kitchen with an elegance of movement and a poise as if it was the Manor's dining room. After a brief glance at their host, Narcissa ordered four plates, one egg − sunny side up, two pieces of toast, one sausage and half a grilled tomato each. One jug of pumpkin juice and a pot of tea, thank you very much.

The elf beamed at the excessive order and started to bustle at the oven at once, with ingredients flowing in from the pantry.

Narcissa was not finished with instructing. "Draco, please get us glasses from the dining room, cups as well if you find some. Lucius, care for napkins and I will find cutlery."

Ignorant of the hustle and bustle around him, Harry only woke when Narcissa put a plate of food in front of him and Kreacher topped off his coffee.

Eying the meal, he admitted reluctantly, "I usually don't eat in the morning." The truth was, Harry did not particularly enjoy eating alone. On week−days he and Neville had made a habit of taking second breakfast at work. On weekends, he usually slept in. Today, however, the Lady Malfoy informed him with a smile, "You do today." Aware that her tone permitted no argument, he picked up his cutlery and mumbled, "Yes, ma'am."

Noticing the somewhat anxious look Lucius and Draco traded, she prompted, "You too, gentleman."

The two men mirrored the smile, Harry tried to hide and parroted obediently, "Yes, ma'am."

−−O−O−−

A quarter after seven, they left Grimmauld Place through the back−door, captivated by the beautiful, albeit small garden that stood in full bloom.

"Wow," Draco stated impressed. "You really caught up on herbology, Potter." After a second, he corrected himself hastily, "Harry, I mean. Sorry."

"It's alright," the raven−haired chuckled, leading them to the back where a small pavilion was exempt from the anti−apparation wards. "I'm not any better now than I was at school. I only know that they need to be watered every two to three days depending if there was rain or not. Neville and Luna did this for me as a housewarming gift. They chose particularly resilient plants, herbs and leaves that ward against Nargles."

"I'm sorry?" Narcissa asked surprised, but her son briefly touched her hand. "Don't ask, mother."

Entering the pavilion, they all held hands, with Lucius being the furthest away since his magic was bound to Harry anyway. Approaching the Manor, they found Hermione, Luna, Ron, Neville, George, and Ginny lounging on the steps, sipping hot beverages in various states of drowsiness.

The Malfoys seemed downright shocked by the number of Gryffindors, and the Ravenclaw on their doorstep and Harry too had trouble swallowing around the lump in his throat. Weakly, he protested, "Guys, you don't have to …"

Rising from the stairs, Ron and Hermione approached him. While Hermione reached for his hand, Ron folded his arms before his chest. "We've been here together," she started, letting Ron finish with the obvious question, "You didn't really think that we would let you do this alone?"

Hugging them both, Harry asked quietly, "Are you sure you're up to this?" Looking at Luna especially, he emphasised, "All of you?"

Turning around so they could look at the imposing façade, Hermione forced a smile. "No. Come on." Before tugging him towards the door.

In a quiet, dream−like voice that was so typical for her, Luna added, "The war is over. I don't believe anybody wishes to hurt us any longer."

"Of course not," Lucius confirmed, and Narcissa elaborated. "I'm afraid we will prove ourselves poor hosts, since we can't offer refreshments beyond water. Still, rest assured that no harm will come to you here."

"Don't worry, Lady Malfoy." Ginny put the hostess mind at ease. Holding up two brown paper−bags with a mermaid on one side. "George and I brought enough refreshments for all of us."

With a grateful nod, Narcissa climbed the last steps and opened the door. "In that case, be welcome to Malfoy Manor."

Ginny and George followed instantly, as did Hermione after taking a steeling breath. Her hand clutching Ron's in a vice−grip was the only indicator of her distress. Luna hovered at the door for a moment, looking towards the roof. "The gargoyles have done a poor job as of late. I will see if we can wake them up." She then glanced at Neville and when he gave her an encouraging nod, entered the house.

Lucius, Draco and Harry were the last outside. When the raven−haired stepped aside, the former Lord entered his home. Draco took in the picture of the impressive Manor he had called home for so long, but his eyes were full of dread.

Quietly, Harry promised, "No matter what happens here today. We will leave at sundown and return to Grimmauld Place."

Hesitant, the blond nodded and whispered, "Only for a few hours."

"Only for a few hours," the raven-haired confirmed and put a gentle hand on the small of Draco's back. "You’re not alone. And if you really want to leave, just tell me. But I think your parents would really appreciate your support in this." And with a small nudge, they were finally through the door.

−−O−O−−

"Lucius, put that down!" Harry ordered forcefully when he recognised the markings on the cup in his vassal's hand. Contrary to the pure−blood, he could identify the drink by the code on the side.

As a result of his years of service to the Dark Lord, the white−haired man did not even startle at the harsh command, neatly setting the cup down. Only the slight trembling of his hands betrayed his distress when he tilted his head and stated, "Forgive me, my Lord."

Harry did not possess as much self−control but hid his aversion against the addressing by checking the unclaimed drinks. "Here, take this one." Offering a different coffee, he took the one the man had sat down and handed it to Draco. Choosing between the remaining cups, he presented one to Narcissa before claiming the last one.

"Sweet!" Draco noticed, licking whipped cream from his lips.

"That's a pumpkin spiced latte," Luna smiled. "It's too heavy for my liking."

Chuckling, Neville remarked, "Every Starbucks coffee is too heavy for you. You've always preferred their teas."

"It is not my fault that their 'English Breakfast' is extraordinarily delicious." The blonde defended herself while sipping from her cup serenely.

"May I ask what this is?" Narcissa inquired, holding up her beverage.

"Don't you like it?" Worried, Harry stepped closer.

"On the contrary, it is delicious. But I wonder which spices were used."

"Actually, it's a mixture of spices," Ginny revealed. "I'm quite partial to the 'Spiced Chai Latte' myself. Let me show you."

Guiding the young Weasley girl into the kitchen, the rest of Harry's friends followed. Neville, however, shook his head and subtly gestured towards Lucius when Harry tried to join them. Turning towards the man, he was grateful to notice that the faint pink of embarrassment, had left Lucius' cheeks. Yet when Harry started with, "Lucius, listen, I'm sorry, but …"

The man raised his hands to interrupt him. "Don't, my … Harry. It was presumptuous of me to claim a drink, without consulting you. You have nothing to apologise for. You merely reminded me of my place."

"That's what you think? That I humiliated you in front of your family and my friends on purpose, to drive the point home that I am in charge?"

When Lucius did not reply, Harry rubbed his head, tussling his already unruly hair. "It's what He would have done."

Of course, for all of Voldemort's powers, Tom Riddle had been a bully at heart. He had needed to push others to their knees, so he could elevate himself. But that was not how Harry operated, and if this liege−vassal−relationship was supposed to work, Lucius had to see him for who he was, not who he feared Harry to be.

Putting down his own cup, he gestured towards the coffee he had chosen for Lucius. "Do you like it?"

Looking at his drink, confused by the change of topic, the white−haired nodded. "It is a delicious beverage, with just a hint of nut I enjoy."

Nodding, Harry revealed, "It is a shot of espresso, with skimmed milk and two shots of hazelnut−syrup; not too sweet and low fat. The coffee I took from you had five shots of a spicy, overly−sweet syrup, whole milk and a generous serving of whipped cream your son enjoyed so readily."

Understanding dawned in the man's eyes, and a horrified glance rose on his face, "I would have been sick all over the place."

"You might have," Harry conceded. "I did not want to take any chances. Not with my friends around. Now, I want to say something, and I don't want you to interrupt me." Only when Lucius nodded, did he continue. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

With the barest hint of a smile, Lucius indicated a bow. "Apology accepted. Thank you for your concern."

What a strange concept, both the conversation and having a master to watch out for his well−being. Lucius had followed the Dark Lord, had tried and succeeded in harming this young man. Yet, all that did not seem to matter anymore. How strange of a concept to bend his will to someone so quickly. A person who actually was concerned with not only his physical and mental well−being but that of his family as well.

At loss of what to say, both men gazed at their cups, trying their best to ignore the awkwardness that had risen between them.

Fortunately, there was a knock on the door, a minute later. Narcissa was just emerging from the kitchen when Auror Jenkins entered the Manor. Used to the thinly veiled insults the man liked to throw at her and her son during his monthly visits, she steeled herself before approaching him. However, Harry cut in before she could even offer a greeting.

"I see you chose to come yourself. Eager to help us along?" The raven-haired inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Hardly," The Auror sneered, before snapping, "Come in!"

All three Malfoys gasped when two trembling house elves entered the parlour, crates of supplies hovering between them.

"Master!" "Mistress!" They cried out in one voice, sprinting towards their owner, bowing deep.

Confused, Narcissa looked up from caressing the elves' heads. "I don't understand."

"You'll still cook for yourself," Auror Jenkins hissed. "This is no pass to enjoy the carefree life you had before! They are merely here to help with the cleaning." And with that, he turned on his heels and slammed the door shut.

"What an idiot!" Hermione remarked, before taking off her robe and hovering it towards the wardrobe. "Alright, let's see what we've got."

Following her example, the others revealed old and partially torn clothes, that had been hidden beneath their robes, before helping Hermione to sort through the supplies. Recovering quickly, the Lady Malfoy guided the elves to store away the perishables and the rest of the food, while Harry instructed.

"Ginny, open all the windows, George you'll care for the fireplaces. Clean them, then light them up. I doubt there is much corpse wood around, but I am sure Draco can point you towards one tree or the other that can be chopped down. Luna, you have the herbs we will burn later, I trust?"

When the blonde woman patted a pouch on her belt, he nodded and continued, "Hermione, Narcissa, Lucius, Ron and I will start with the cleaning. The supplies are all there."

Hesitantly, the elves piped up, "What is Tilla and Sero to do, Master? Us want to help as well."

"Take whatever piece of fabric you can find and wash it. We need to get this stench out of the house, and that means not only clothes and linen, but carpets, cushions, drapes, and sofas as well. Leave the leather-covered furniture to me. I'll make sure it's spotless once we are through."

Choosing a brush and a white bottle, Hermione decided, "I'll start here."

When Harry tried to protest, Ron put a hand on his shoulder, before picking up a bucket. "I'll help her."

"I want to see if I can wake the Gargoyles," Luna decided, wandering out and Neville joined her. "I'll start on the vegetable garden behind the kitchen."

Slowly coming out of his stupor of hearing Potter assigning tasks in his house, Draco forced out, "Cleaning? Your friends came here to help us clean?"

A knock on the door spared Harry once again from an immediate reply. Yet, when he stepped aside, to reveal the latest guests, he could only smile. "Not only my friends, or so it seems."

"Lady Malfoy, Mr Malfoy, Draco," demonstrating impeccable manners, Daphne entered the house, offering a courtesy worthy of her pureblood upbringing, before unceremoniously pushing a huge canister of milk at Harry. "I expect a cup with one spoon of sugar and two ounces of milk at nine, eleven and three o'clock."

Once her companions had entered, she took off her robe, revealing jeans and a washed out sweat−shirt underneath. "Alright, where do we start?"

Thinking about the duties assigned already, the raven−haired grinned, "George Weasley is tasked with cleaning and lighting up all fireplaces. He will have to chop down a few trees to gather enough wood."

"That I can do." The current Lady Greengrass decided, strolling out after offering a brief hug to Draco.

Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and Theodor Nott started to rummage through the cleaning supplies and were on their way within moments, leaving the Malfoys and Harry in the entrance hall. "You know, Draco, if you leave Greengrass and George unattended, they will chop down your entire wood?"

With a quiet curse, Draco dashed towards the nearest exit to save their gardens. Offering the milk, Harry suggested to Narcissa, "Maybe you could join Neville for a little planning session. He doesn't know what you want to put in your vegetable garden after all." With a grateful smile, the Lady Malfoy took the canister and left for the kitchen.

"You invited your friends and those of my son to help with the cleaning?" Lucius wondered, peeking into the crates to discover how many supplies were left. An awful lot he noticed.

"No," Harry shook his head, selecting a few items before looking at the former Lord. "I just mentioned my plans to Neville and Inquisitor Greengrass yesterday. She was sent here to investigate the magic I cast, so I thought it prudent to warn her about today."

"Are you telling me, that these people came here to help us, all on their own?"

With a sigh, Harry turned towards the pureblood. "Listen, Tom was a bastard, who destroyed the lives of many. Nobody here is untouched by his cruelty. But to help get rid of his lingering presence … I do not know if I can explain it right, but it's cathartic. Our friends are here to support Draco and me, no doubt about that. But I am sure they are doing it for themselves as well. To get rid of their fear of this place." When Lucius nodded slowly, Harry instructed, "Now go and change. You will help me with the dining room. I doubt anybody wants to go in there."

"Not voluntarily," he heard the man mumble when ascending the stairs to change out of his robes.

Reaching for the door−handle, Harry took a moment to take a deep breath, reminding himself. "Nobody wants to go in there, but someone has to. Otherwise, nothing will ever change." Resolutely opening the door, the young man entered and fought down the memories Tom Riddle had forced on him. This had been a place of plotting, torture, and death and although a few herbs burned in a fireplace and a new coating of wax on the furniture would not do a lot, it was most definitely a beginning.

−−O−O−−

The sun was touching the horizon, illuminating the strange group of former Gryffindors and Slytherins that lay side by side on the back lawn. Halfway through the day, Millicent Bullstrode had joined them. Blaise had been admitted to St. Mungos because one of the more volatile books in the Malfoy library had bitten him. After hearing what was going on, the newly admitted healer had clocked out after a thirteen-hour shift and joined them. Everybody had been immensely grateful since she could offer immediate help when one fireplace incinerated George's shoulder, and the former Lord Malfoy had a dizzy spell halfway through the afternoon. Millicent had checked him over and proposed a rigorous potions regiment to counter the negligence he had suffered in Azkaban.

Now, the elder Malfoys sat on freshly polished garden−chairs, as if they did not wear damp and dirty clothes. How they managed to make it look so elegant was beyond Harry. Something was just bred into a person, he pondered. Their son, on the other hand, sat on the lawn beside his friends, looking equally dishevelled but much calmer than in the morning. From all the debris Daphne and George had collected during their wood−cutting, they had made a huge bonfire, and every few minutes, someone levitated more twigs and handful of needles into the fire.

Neville and Luna, despite being covered in earth and leaves, had made a Domino's run. Since most of the pizzas had already been consumed, they now enjoyed squabbling over the remaining duck−balls. Harry and Ginny both had caught a majority, thanks to their seeker reflexes. Now the young man lounged, leaning back on his elbows, while Ginny had her head on his belly. Dipping the last piece of bread into the sauce, he offered her a bite, before demolishing the rest. Untangling the hair that had slipped out of her braid, he chuckled, "Not quite the way you thought your first, free Saturday in a month would go, I imagine."

The redhead, however, shrugged. "I'm here with George, Ron and you. Cleaning never bothered me, as you very well know. We have accomplished a lot today. It feels good."

They really had, and since everybody had promised to be back tomorrow, the lion's share of the work would be done when evening came around. "Thanks for your help."

Looking up, she assured, "Always, Harry. Just because we … never mind." Shaking her head, she continued, "I'll come whenever you need me. I love you. You know that."

"I love you too," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her hair. Gently they smiled at each other, before relaxing again. Neither noticed the sliver−grey eyes that had observed their interaction from across the fire.

When the sun had vanished, the youngsters picked themselves up and extinguished the fire, trickling out with the promise to return Sunday morning around eight. Because it was still weekend, let us be reasonable!

−−O−O−−

Once back at Grimmauld Place, they all but fell into their separate showers, scrubbing away the grime that had gathered in every nook and cranny before taking a late supper. Bidding his guests good−night an hour later, Harry went upstairs to go through the evening routine. Only when he slipped onto the window−sill did he allow himself to shiver and let all the memories and emotions, he had suppressed today, wash over him.

The stars were already high in the sky when he finally calmed down. Pressing his forehead against the cold glass, he finally spoke. "I want everything in this bloody Manor incinerated. If it were up to me, I would raze this whole building to the ground, just to make sure nobody ever touches anything Tom had his filthy hands on ever again."

Turning around, he wished for a comment, the barest acknowledgement, but of course, the patient lay unmoving, unresponsive, serenely silent for the last five years. Dejected, Harry made his way over, straightened the covers and gently brushed a strand of hair aside before leaving. "Good night, Sir."

−−O−O−−

"Sir!"

Since the day had been taxing, Harry was already asleep, when Kreacher popped in. Though he had pulled his wand on instinct, he did not have to bother asking what was wrong. He merely slipped on his dressing gown and gestured for Kreacher to lead the way. When the elf stopped in front of Draco's door once, Harry nodded before ordering, "Please, fetch me my duvet. I was cold yesterday."

Quietly the house−elf snapped his fingers and dutifully followed Harry into the guestroom. Contrary to yesterday, Draco did not seem to be terrified or hysterical. He merely lay curled up in his bed, weeping quietly. The worst thing was that, just like yesterday, he seemed to keep his pain hidden, muffling his sounds without conscious thought.

When Harry sat on his blanket, soothingly touching his shoulder, the blond wailed, before curling even tighter, as if to protect himself from any harsh reaction that might follow the gentle touch. "Hey, it's okay, Draco. It's me, Harry. Everything is going to be alright, I promise." Harry mumbled quietly and bit by bit, the other started to relax. Yet when the raven−haired pulled his hand away, the anxiety returned. Sighing, Harry relented and stretched out on the other side of the bed, carefully keeping in touch, while gesturing for Kreacher to levitate over his duvet. Once they were settled, he commanded quietly, "Wake me around five if I haven't returned to my room by then."

Just like the day before, Draco woke refreshed and a little less pale.

−−O−O−−

When they gathered in the living−room around six the next evening, Luna shared contently, "The Gargoyles will take much better care from now on. And I have convinced the gnomes in the garden to leave the vegetable and herbal patches alone."

"We had gnomes?" Lucius asked surprised because until now the Manor had never had to deal with such pests.

"Yes," the blonde beamed happily. "You are very fortunate. They bring good luck."

Trading smiles with his friends, Harry and the others tilted their heads at the former Slytherins, for refraining from commenting on this remark. Secretly, Harry pondered that Luna helping Narcissa in the kitchen, all afternoon, to prepare a delicious dinner, was to thank for that. Anyway, when they sat around the kitchen−table half an hour later, enjoying several meat−pies and a fresh salad, the Slytherins and Gryffindors alike went out of their way to show their appreciation for the delicious meal.

When dinner ended, Neville wanted to know, "Harry, when can I expect your call tomorrow?"

"I don't know yet."

Surprised, his best friend interrupted their conversation, "You won't go to work tomorrow?"

Embarrassed, Harry shrugged, "Let's just say, I am not Roberts' favourite Auror, at the moment."

Ron, never one for subtlety demanded to know, "Why?"

Neville, covered for his partner by distracting the red−head, "Because we've raided a safe−house not three days ago and haven't managed a single conviction, because the bastard living there cried 'uncle'."

"And you walked out of the Ministry with a convicted Death Eater you've gotten out of Azkaban." Draco finished tonelessly, looking like he was about to be sick. "They sacked you because … because …"

"What? No!" Harry interrupted forcefully. "I'm just on vacation and only for a week. Don't worry, Draco, everything is fine. Our boss just has a temper and needs to cool off, before I can come back in. It's going to be alright, don't worry."

In an unexpected display of tact, Ron changed the subject and shared his and George's latest breakthrough with the Rainbow Rolls. Mayonnaise was responsible for the people hiccupping uncontrollably. Their friends congratulated them dutifully, and their recent acquaintances wanted to know what, in the name of Merlin, Rainbow Rolls were. Ever the businessmen George and Ron offered free samples so that everybody in attendance started to shimmer through all the colours of the rainbow on their way out.

At the door, Harry held Neville back. "Listen, get me a copy of the files, okay? Maybe I'll be able to think of something we haven't found yet, so we can lock this bastard up for good."

Though his partner appeared doubtful, after a moment, he nodded. "Alright, we'll talk tomorrow."

"Promise." Harry mirrored the gesture before closing the doors.

−−O−O−−

When they sat in the living−room of Grimmauld Place for a nightcap, Lucius breached the previous topic. "So, Harry, you have been suspended because you helped me."

Rolling his eyes, Harry set down his drink, with a little more force than necessary. "Neither have I been, nor will I be fired over this!" He insisted. "Yes, the Head Auror is pissed, and yes he forced a weeklong vacation on me. But even he knows that what I did was right!"

"How can he?" Lucius wanted to know. "I'm a convicted Death Eater. I supported the Dark Lord for years. That I had a change of heart when I realised You−know−who's plans would get my family killed his hardly relevant."

"Voldemort."

Harry noticed all three Malfoys flinching, yet this was something he insisted on, especially in his own home. "His name was Tom Riddle, or Voldemort if you prefer that. He is not some all−powerful wizard, any longer, who terrorises our world. I saw to that! So, as long as you are in this house, call him either by his given, or his chosen name."

Swallowing compulsively, Lucius tried again, "I was in Lord Voldemort's inner circle. I committed crimes you sent others to Azkaban for. So why would you risk anything for me and mine?"

"Leave!" Harry commanded quietly, not looking away from his vassal. When Narcissa and Draco reluctantly closed the door, he downed the rest of his drink before rising to pace the room. The white−haired man had gotten up as well and now stood transfixed, not taking his eyes off his liege.

Maybe he should not have said anything? Should not have drawn attention towards the heinous crimes he had committed. Would Potter send him away now? He would be entirely justified to banish him, because, as things were, his life would only get worse with Lucius in it. After a few minutes, the raven−haired returned to his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. When he looked up, Lucius reclaimed his seat as well.

"There is really no nice way to go about this, so I'm just going to say it." Harry started.

Calling upon his pureblood mask, the man made an inviting gesture, "By all means. I am not a delicate flower that will wither at a cant remark of you."

"Fine, so, the truth is: you don't deserve this; any leniency at all. You captured and tortured me, my friends, and probably countless others in service to your Lord. Though we have never been able to prove it, you might have killed innocent people as well. Lucius Malfoy was a bastard who deserved to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Maybe, even receive the Dementor's Kiss." Looking up, Harry noticed that the other man's posture had not changed one bit. His face was frozen, and only the interwoven fingers over his knee betrayed him. He was clutching them so tightly, that his entire hands had gone white. Nevertheless, the young man continued. "Draco's father, however, is another matter entirely. He risked everything to get his family away from Tom Riddle. I doubt that you considered my chances of actually winning very high, so you risked torture or worse, simply by turning away from the future ruler of the wizarding world."

"I always hoped you would win," Lucius breathed quietly.

Harry merely shrugged, "That was all any of us could really hope for. But my point is, you had no way of knowing."

"That is true."

"So, even if Lucius Malfoy was a bastard who deserved everything that has been coming to him, Draco's father deserves a second chance. It's up to you, which man you want to be from now on."

With shaking hands, the pureblood rose from his chair and kneeled before Harry's. Completely taken aback by the gesture, it was the raven-haired's turn to freeze, offering no resistance when the former Lord reached for his hand and pressed his forehead against it. "I will prove myself worthy of your trust, and will thrive to exceed your expectations, my liege."

Not pulling back, though he desperately wanted to, because he recognised the significance of the gesture − Neville had taught him well in pureblood etiquette − Harry took a deep breath and assured, "I know, Lucius, you already do."

−−O−O−−

Harry was already waiting for Kreacher with his duvet folded up on the bed. With a small gesture, he sent the elf back to his cupboard under the sink before he made himself at home in Draco's room. He pulled the trembling blond close and did not even bother with an alarm spell, confident that the rising sun would wake him. Draco did not seem particularly fond of the dark, so he never closed his curtains. Very much like Harry himself.

−−O−O−−

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Pot… I mean Harry told me to repair a perfectly functioning piece of magic and instructed me to catalogue his books if I couldn't. So, I started on a list." Gesturing towards the desk that sat in the centre of the room, and numerous scrolls that littered its surface. "Usually, when I'm through with a letter, I just double−check with the index, so I won't forget anything."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The peaceful atmosphere was shattered, not twenty minutes later, by an outraged shout. “Kreacher! You worthless, treacherous, disobedient, little cockroach! How dare you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To read something 'phonetically' means that Harry’s requests read as the sounds he makes.  
> School, for example, would become skuhl because ‘sch’ is spoken as ‘sk’ and double ‘o’ sounds like a long ‘u’.  
> It will come up later and might be a little confusing, but regrettably, I could not find a better word for what I meant.

They all sat together for breakfast the next morning and once Harry had sufficiently woken after a cup of coffee and porridge with fresh blackberries, Narcissa had placed before him, he pondered, "We'll start removing the dark artefacts today. Considering your families background, I doubt Tom's diary was the only one."

"But some of them have been in the family for years!" Lucius protested at once but lowered his eyes when Harry merely looked at him. "Yes, my liege," he conceded.

Turning towards Draco, the raven−haired continued, "You don't have to come with us today. Grimmauld Place needs a lot of work, and if you wish to stay, I would suggest you start with the library. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of books, but they resist every index−spell I throw at them. It's quite inconvenient. There is a vast amount of knowledge, but short of reading every volume top to bottom, I have no way of accessing it."

"The Black Library?" The look in Draco's eyes alone told that he would prefer those books over any other task.

"I know it might be hard without your wand, but you have great instincts for artefacts. If nothing else, you could at least compile a list of books with but a one-sentence description, so I have a general idea of my available resources."

Lighting up like a child on Christmas morning, the blond swallowed the last sip of his tea, before asking respectfully, "May I be excused from the table?"

With a low chuckle, Narcissa confirmed, "You may, Draco. Enjoy yourself."

Looking after him dashing out, Harry reflected, "I always forget how smart he really is. I mean he was almost always on top of our classes, right on par with Hermione. But since she's a muggle−born, we simply overlooked Draco's achievements."

Returning to his breakfast, he did not notice the proud look Lucius and Narcissa shared. They had always known their son to possess an extraordinary mind. It was good to see someone else acknowledge that.

−−O−O−−

Around midday, Narcissa served a hearty soup before requesting to return to Grimmauld Place. Concerned with a particularly dark artefact Lucius had produced from the depth of his house, Harry merely called for Kreacher and instructed him to apparate the Lady back. He floated the cursed picture into a storage box and sealed it. "I'll talk to Ron. I think Bill's due to visit the Burrow. Fleur and Victoire are in France next week, as far as I know."

"Excuse me?"

"William Weasley, he works for Gringotts as a curse−breaker. We lived with him and Fleur for a while during … well, before Victoire was born. If he's free, he might help us."

Perplexed, Lucius clarified, "A Weasley, … an ordinary wizard getting paid by goblins … for curse−breaking?"

Chuckling, imagining for Lucius and Bill to meet with the latter's claw−marks prominent on his face, Harry looked up from the box. "Charlie is a dragon−tamer in Romania. Bill works for Gringotts. Percy scored a job at the Ministry right out of school. Fred and George created their own business out of virtually nothing and these days put Zonko's to shame. Ron helped me collect no less than four of Tom's Horcrux and destroyed one of them himself after saving me from drowning. And Ginny is one of the youngest seekers the Holyhead Harpies have ever taken under contract. What part of that family screams 'ordinary' to you?"

Faced with these facts, the pure−blood stammered, "But Arthur Weasley is a minor employee at the Department of Abuse of Muggle Artefacts, and Molly Weasley is a simple housewife."

"True," Harry conceded with a smile. "Arthur and Molly are but loving parents who had it rough all their lives and had little but morals and their devotion to their family. No matter how you look at it, they **are** utterly ordinary. Their children, however, are anything but. What does that say about their family?"

−−O−O−−

"Mum, what are you doing here? Is everything alright? Is father okay?" Anxiety written all over his face, Draco looked at his mother who had just entered the library. He stood in front of a massive tome, that sat on a separate table at the side of the room.

Kissing his forehead, his mother eased, "Be calm, my darling. Everything is fine. What are you working on?"

"Well, I was going over the books and pondered about what Pot… I mean Harry said." He gestured towards the volume. "I thought maybe I could look at the index and figure out what was wrong. You know, sometimes the magic just needs a little nudge and sorts itself out."

"And?"

Shrugging, Draco admitted, "I can't find out what's wrong with it. It works fine for me."

Giving her son a calculating look, Narcissa put a hand on the leather cover and demanded, "Show me all books that mention werewolves." Instantly the tome snapped open, and pages turned into one offering a complete list of books available on the subject. Looking around, they noticed that the books in question had a faint glow to them. "What did you do about it?"

"Nothing," the blond shrugged. "Pot… Harry told me to repair a perfectly functioning piece of magic and instructed me to catalogue his books if I couldn't. So, I started on a list." Gesturing towards the desk that sat in the centre of the room, and numerous scrolls that littered its surface. "Usually, when I'm through with a letter, I double−check with the index, so I won't overlook anything."

"Why not take the book with you instead of going back and forth?"

"Because it won't move, and when I try to use it as a study board, it tries to eat my paper."

Testing that claim, Narcissa confirmed that the index wouldn't be move from its pedestal. "Don't you find it strange that Harry gives you such a menial task?" Something was wrong here, but for the life of her, the Lady could not lay her finger on it.

Rubbing his own arms nervously, Draco admitted, "Well, it's not as if Harry and I were friends in the past. I expected a lot worse than cataloguing his library, to be honest."

"What did you expect?"                                                                                                                                                    

"Scrubbing the toilets, sweeping the floors, washing the windows … it's not as if I would have any right to complain. We were enemies pretty much all our lives. And with what we have done to him and his friends, I ought to count everything short of being locked in a dungeon a blessing. After all, I offered my freedom in exchange for him trying to save father from the kiss. I never … he got him out. I never even dared to hope for that. So, whatever Harry Potter asks of me, I will try my best to exceed his expectations."

Growing pale, Narcissa sank into one of the armchairs, in front of the warded fireplace. "Scrubbing toilets, washing windows, being thrown into a dungeon … if that's what you expected, why come here in the first place?"

Gracefully choosing the place opposite her, Draco pondered his answer. He knew why he had done it, but now, seeing his mother so agitated, he was not sure if she was ready for the truth. However, not in the habit of lying to her, he revealed quietly after a few moments, "Because it's what I would have deserved."

"Draco …"

"No, mother, listen! For what we have done, me especially, we deserve to make amends. I don't want to go to Azkaban, but I have no illusions about my guilt. Potter … he has strong morals. Whatever he decides is justified! And considering my interest in books, it is no a hardship to go through with all of this. Also, no matter my personal feelings, if anybody had a chance to get father out, it would be Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world."

"True," his mother had to admit.

For a few minutes, they sat in companionable silence, before Draco rose again. "I have to go back to my task. Have you eaten?"

She tilted her head in confirmation. "I have, what about you?"

Chuckling, the blond recalled, "Kreacher brought soup and a sandwich. He stated that 'Sir requested Kreacher to make sure Master Draco eats!'. He wouldn't leave until I was finished."

Content, Narcissa rose. At the door, she hesitated. "Don't you think it's strange that Harry would use subterfuge, by claiming you could make the index work, instead of merely setting you on an extensive task, such as cataloguing the entire library? Especially considering you pledged yourself to him, and he doesn't have to justify the errands?"

"Harry doesn't do subterfuge," Draco mumbled absent−minded, already immersed in his work again.

"No," Narcissa mused, leaving. "He doesn't seem the type."

−−O−O−−

Heading towards the kitchen, she looked for Kreacher. In the end, she found him in the living−room. He was methodically cleaning the couch cushion, before setting it down in a criss−cross pattern. All the while he muttered to himself about cheap fabrics and how his mistress would turn in her grave if she knew about the low-quality accessories used in her house these days.

"Kreacher"

Offering the barest of smiles, the house−elf bowed low. "What can Kreacher do for you, Mistress?"

"I …," she started decisively but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Bowing again, this time somewhat apologetic, the elf informed her, "A moment, Mistress." Then he vanished into thin air.

For a heartbeat, the Lady Malfoy thought she could hear the door opening and then someone walking up the stairs. But since a few logs in the fireplace exploded into sparks at the same time, giving her a scare, she cast the idea off as preposterous. Surely Kreacher would fetch her if Harry had guests. Since the elf appeared before her not three seconds later, she forgot all about it, when asking, "Harry mentioned that the index in the library is not working for him. 'Amongst other things' if I recall correctly."

Unblinking the elf looked up at her. Well, strictly speaking, she had not asked a question or issued an order. "What other things in the house aren't working properly for your master?"

Kreacher seemed to chew on the 'master' title, before he admitted, "Most of them, Mistress."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No, Mistress."

Looming over the elf, Narcissa Malfoy enunciated very clearly, "Why are the artefacts of this house not working properly for their Master? Tell me the truth!"

Cowering, Kreacher tugged at his ears and after a minute forced out, "Because he isn't!"

"Isn't what? Explain yourself!" She demanded, growing tired of their back and forth.

"Sir is Sirius Black's godson. But Master Black was banished from the family, his name in the tree was burned!" He wailed, banging his head against the table. "We are not to speak of him in this house ever again! Bad Kreacher!"

Watching the elf for a moment, Narcissa ordered, "Stop it and show me that tree."

Whimpering slightly, Kreacher tugged on his ears once again, before guiding her to a door on the first level. "Sir has made it clear that Kreacher is not to enter this room." After a heartbeat, he added, "Mistress shouldn't either."

Looking down and then at the door, she nodded. "I understand."

When the elf reluctantly trudged down the stairs, Narcissa went over her options for a moment, before resolutely opening the door. She vaguely remembered this room. It had been her aunt Walburga's salon, once upon a time. Now it resembled a pig−stall. Every available surface was littered with bottles. The whole room smelled of stale alcohol and magic. A lot of magic! To the pureblood it felt like the very air in the room was charged, making every hair on her body stand up. Once passing the threshold, she realised that the magic was concentrated on the carpet that covered an entire wall. Studying the family−tree, she found her own family, even her son and, of course, the main branch with the Lady Walburga Black, the family matriarch and her children. Except … one child was missing. The charred edges of the fabric, where Sirius' name ought to be, were ugly and repellent. When she touched them, a spark of the stored magic zapped her finger, making her hiss in surprise. Instantly a dark matron emerged in one of the paintings and screeched, "Take your hands away from my family tree, you insolent, little thing!"

Calming herself, Narcissa gathered her composure before turning around while lifting her head. "Good afternoon, aunt Walburga."

"Narcissa?"

With the barest tilt of her head, she greeted her ancestor.

"What are you doing here?" The portrait wanted to know, but before the Lady Malfoy could answer, the woman frayed, "I hope you are here to claim your son and what's left of the Black inheritance. You wouldn't believe what that half−blood Potter dared to do!"

Slowly gathering where the intangible animosity in the house was coming from, Narcissa elegantly sank in the chair Harry seemed to favour. The one that stood at the centre of the chaos. "I certainly do. He saved my husband Lucius from the Dementor's Kiss and Draco and me from starvation."

Gapping, the former Black martriarch demanded to know, "You can not honestly be on his side. His mother was a mudblood and his father the reason my own son turned his back on his family!"

"Well, he is the last remaining heir of the Black family and therefore the head of my house, since Lucius has entered the Rite of Compulsory Surrender with him."

"Just because he is legally entitled to the Black−vaults, does not make him a member of the family!" The portrait declared icily. "I'm very disappointed in you, Narcissa. You were such a sweet, little girl with perfect manners and an understanding of what was proper. We were all so happy when your father and Abraxas Malfoy started arranging your wedding contract. What, by Merlin, happened to you?"

"I grew up." With these words, Narcissa left the room.

−−O−O−−

Back in the kitchen, she demanded from the house elf, "Kreacher, I need a box to carry out the bottles and some cleaning supplies."

Instead of jumping at the chance to serve a former member of the Black family, the elf backed into a corner and started banging his head against the wall. "No, no, no, nobody must go into that room. That room belongs to Mistress Walburga. Sir wants it the way it is. Kreacher isn't allowed to clean in there. Nobody is allowed in there. Sir is so furious when in this room. Must leave him alone. Not go in there!"

To drown out the frantic elf, Narcissa had to do something she rarely did, she raised her voice, "Kreacher, stop!" When the elf froze, she continued in a calmer tone. "I understand, but your master is wrong." Ignoring the mumbled, "Not Kreacher's master," the Lady continued. "This room, like every other room in this house, like you, by the way, belongs to Harry and it is not right for him to force such living conditions on anybody. Least of all himself."

When the elf handed out the cleaning−supplies and a crate reluctantly, she took them and returned to the salon. Harry had tried to play by the rules, with an open heart that got broken with every useless spell he seemed to fire at that family−tree. It was time he learned some Slytherin cunning.

−−O−O−−

During dinner, Lucius and Harry carried the conversation, by discussing family heirlooms and how to best get rid of the dark magic most contained, without destroying them. Before they could retire to the living room for a night−cap, the fireplace flared to life.

"Harry, are you there?"

Instantly, the young wizard removed the wards that protected his access to the floo. "Sure, Neville, come through." When he noticed the stacks of files his partner carried, he gestured towards the door. "Let's talk in the office." With an apologetic nod, he left the room and after a respectful, "Lady Malfoy, Mister Malfoy, Draco," Neville followed.

When the two Aurors didn't return within the hour, the three pure−bloods decided to retire.

−−O−O−−

The peaceful atmosphere was shattered, not twenty minutes later, by an outraged shout. “Kreacher! You worthless, treacherous, disobedient, little cockroach! How dare you?”

When the Malfoys came down from the second floor, they found their host, holding his house-elf up by the neck, pointing his wand at the creature’s anxious face. He was livid, and despite the years that had passed, all three could see the warrior that had managed to inspire an entire nation to stand up to the darkest wizard of their time.

The elf wailed and not because Harry’s grip had to be painful. “Kreacher didn’t enter the salon. Kreacher promised! Kreacher would never break his word. Would never be so disrespectful!”

Ignorant of his audience, Harry threw the elf through the door. “Stop lying to me! You never respected me! I have told you specifically to leave Walburga’s salon alone! She can have it back when I’ve managed to add Sirius to the family again, not one bloody minute earlier!” Kicking open the door that had tried to fall shut, he continued his rant, “You even put bees-wax on the fucking furniture! This place looks as good as new!”

Evading the concerned hands of her husband and child, Narcissa stepped into the doorframe and shared in a calm tone. “I should certainly hope so, I spent the entire afternoon polishing it.”

Whipping around, wand still in hand, Harry ignored the Lady Malfoy’s flinch when he accused, “You had no right! I made it this way on purpose. She banished Sirus from the family tree, so I thrashed her favourite room. I was about to give it back the moment her son is returned to the family!"

Gesturing for her family to stay back, Narcissa shook her head before replying in a calm tone, “This is not aunt Walburga’s room any longer, no matter how much she loved it when she was alive. It is yours, Harry. You can throw out the entire furniture and replace it with rummage if you so desire, I honestly do not care. But I care about you, and in your own home, you deserve better than to be surrounded by garbage.”

He lowered his wand, trembling slightly, before sinking into his chair. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he whispered. “I did not invite you into my home to have you take up house-elf duties. You too, deserve better than that.”

“May I come in?”

Only when he nodded, did Narcissa pass the threshold and closed the door, leaving her worried family on the staircase.

Once the door was closed, Kreacher got up from the floor hesitantly. “This room mustn’t be cleaned. Kreacher promised to obey. But Mistress has to be obeyed as well. Kreacher is going to iron his ears now, Sir. He … he is sorry.”

“Don’t,” Harry sighed tiredly. “Just go to bed. I’m sorry I tossed you around.”

The elf seemed to waver a little at that command, but in the end, bowed and vanished. At the raven-haired's inviting gesture, the Lady sat down on the sofa and for a few moments, neither said a word. After a while, Harry took a deep breath, looking at his guest. “I am sorry I shouted at you. That was rude and uncalled for. I apologise. In my defence, this place is kind of personal. Even my friends know better than to come in here.”

With a kind smile, Narcissa tilted her head. “Apology accepted. Can I ask you a question?”

Sinking deeper into his chair, desperately wishing for a whiskey or at least a beer, Harry gestured for her to continue. This room had a way of draining his energy, but after shouting so rudely, he felt the need to indulge her.

“The index in the library, the one you said did not work for you. How does this … glitch manifest itself?”

Confused by the sudden change of topic, Harry straightened. “It readies my requests phonetically as if it’s trying to misunderstand me on purpose. I even tried spelling, but – as I said – it reads what I say, not what I intend.”

“Anything else in the house that does not work properly for you?”

“Well,” he pondered. “I have to ignite the oven with a match and the fireplace in the library is kind of wonky.”

Recalling these surroundings with perfect clarity, Narcissa requested, “Would you elaborate, please?”

Shrugging, the young man explained, “Sometimes the fire dies, though there is plenty of wood available. Oh, and in every room but Sirius’ the floorboards creak and groan when I try to sleep there.”

“Really? I have not noticed such a phenomenon.”

“Draco hasn’t either. At least I don’t think so.”

“So, you haven’t set Draco upon the task to catalogue your library by hand out of spite?” She asked hesitantly. “You really can’t find the right books?”

Appalled, Harry looked at her, “Is that what Draco thinks? That I gave him menial tasks out of spite?”

“The index works for him, Harry, as well as for me and he didn’t mention once that the fire in the room died on its own. But no, I doubt that he presumes you being so mean-spirited. He was just wondering because he couldn’t relate to the problems you have described.”

Groaning, the raven brushed through his hair, making it stand up even more. Helplessly, he revealed, “Lots of things here don’t work the way they should. But mostly they are minor inconveniences. I did not realise that things could react differently, depending on who uses them.”

Looking at him, Narcissa thought about sharing her theory. It might sound a tad offensive, but it could offer a possible solution at the same time. The only problem was, she wasn’t sure if it would work. However, it was evident that the status quo was hurting her host, so she was reluctant to let it continue. “I think that might be because you are not the owner of this house.”

Puzzled, Harry shook his head. “Of course, I am. I’m Sirius Black’s godson. He even had a will deposited at Gringotts declaring me the sole heir of his assets. You know that the goblins would have never released his vault were there the slightest doubt about my claim.”

Shaking her head, Narcissa contradicted, “I am not talking about your legal claim, but that of your blood. Look at the carpet, Harry. Sirius Black is no longer part of this family, so how could you be?”

“I tried to find the right spell to get him back.” The raven-haired choked, clawing at the armrest when he looked at the singed fabric where his godfather’s name ought to be. “But I can’t do it. No matter what I try, I can’t get it right.”

Reaching for his hand, the Lady squeezed his trembling fingers, admitting sadly, “And you never will.”

Rearing back, as if she had slapped him, Harry jumped to his feet, growling angrily, “How dare you to say that? You didn’t even know Sirius. He deserves this!”

Slowly rising, placating the agitated young man, Narcissa shared gently, “This is not about what my cousin deserves. It is simply a matter of blood. Only a member of the Black family can alter the Black-family-tree.”

“What are you saying? That no matter what I do, I can’t change a thing about this godforsaken tree?”

“Exactly,” the woman nodded, stepping up to the fabric to caress the charred edges of the hole. “But it is possible – not likely, mind you, but possible – that I could.”

“Wha… excuse me?”

Smiling at the young man’s attempt to recall his manners, she entwined her fingers and turned back around. “Harry, Kreacher calls me ‘Mistress’ while you are still ‘Sir’. You may be able to call him, but he follows my commands, even at the risk of angering you. To him, this house and hopefully this carpet, I am still considered of Black blood. I don’t have a wand, but I still have my magic. So, with your permission, I would like to try and mend this fabric, and when the hole is gone, I will try to return cousin Sirius’ name to its rightful place.”

Barely able to suppress the tremors that wracked his body, at the mere idea of finally doing right by Sirius, Harry whispered hoarsely, “You would do that for him?”

Tenderly brushing the tips of her fingers against the young man’s cheek, she smiled. “Not for him, for you, Harry. You have no concept of the debts my family owes you. I can’t promise that I will succeed. But picking up needle and thread is no hardship.”

Swaying a little, Harry briefly closed his eyes, allowing Narcissa to pull him into a quick hug before she nudged him towards the door. “Now, go to bed. We will talk tomorrow.”

With a wordless nod, he conceded and left.

Narcissa, on the other hand, turned around and pricked her pinkie with one of her hairpins. Pressing the welling blood against her name in the tree, she declared, “I am Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. From this day on, as one of the last living members of our blood-line, I take responsibility for the Black family tree.”

With baited breath, she pulled back her hand and watched the scarlet colour of her blood seep into the stitches. Nothing happened until an arrogant voice from one of the paintings reminded her, “You married, my dear niece. You are a Malfoy now. That means you have no say in this family any longer!”

Not taking her eyes off her bloody name, aware of how much it would hurt Harry if this did not work, Narcissa clasped her hands and prayed to all the gods she remembered. When the blood vanished, and a faint glow travelled over the depiction of the tree, she smiled with grim satisfaction. Turning around, she offered the portrait of her formerly beloved aunt a cold look.

“Watch me!” She stated, before leaving the room to ease her family.

She would make sure that things went Harry Potter’s way. For what he had done for her family, he deserved no less. Cousin Sirius’ name in the family tree and Harry’s inheritance fully accepted was but the beginning.

\--O-O--

Harry was still quivering slightly when he entered the second bedroom on his floor. Picking up the daily report-sheet the nurse had a habit of completing. He knew it would just read ‘no apparent changes’, yet he kept it in his hand, rolling and unrolling it when sitting down next to the patient’s bed. They had never been close, but for the past four years, this man had become something like a confidant. The closest thing to a parent, he could imagine. Of course, the Weasleys had made him an honorary member of their family but there were things Harry simply couldn’t imagine discussing with Arthur or Molly. Up here, there was no counsel to be had, especially not from the one person who had hated his father’s guts but had loved Harry’s mother dearly. Sometimes, the raven-haired young man was even able to imagine one piece of advice or the other. It was rarely what he wanted to hear, but always what he knew to be right. Sinking back into the chair next to the bed, Harry groaned and tried to sort through his overflowing emotions. “Narcissa promised to help me with the carpet. Lady Malfoy, I mean. I want to believe she can do it so that finally something goes right around here. But I am afraid to hope. What if she can’t? I’m out of options then. Yet the idea of Sirius’ name forever being missing from his family's tree … it’s just too much. I am responsible for his death. The least I can do is preserve his memory.”

Of course, the other man gave no comment, so Harry sank deeper into the chair and closed his eyes. Just five minutes, then he would go to his room.

Someone shaking him roused Harry from his sleep. Blinking awake, he noticed Kreacher standing a foot away from him, duvet already in hand. Looking at the sleeping man, Harry sighed. “I’m coming.”

\--O-O--

When the Malfoys entered the kitchen the next morning, Harry was nowhere to be seen. Confused, Lucius asked for his whereabouts. The elf revealed, while serving breakfast, “Sir is in his office.”

“Has he had breakfast yet?” Draco demanded to know.

“Sir had coffee.”

With a sigh, Narcissa prompted her son. “Be a dear and fetch him, Draco, so we can start breakfast.”

When the young men returned a minute later, Harry claimed his seat with an apologetic gaze, “Sorry, I forgot the time.”

Gesturing for Kreacher to serve his master, she asked, “How long have you been awake?”

Wolfing down the first bite, he shrugged, “Since sunrise, I guess? Neville brought our latest case files, and I hoped to be able to go over them before we have to leave for the Manor.”

Trading a concerned glance with his family, Lucius offered, “If you wish, I could return to the Manor alone and leave you to your work.”

Shaking his head, Harry took a sip of the tea Draco had just served him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Lucius, but can you imagine what would happen if word got around that I have left you alone in Malfoy Manor with all the dark artefacts still around?”

Blushing ever so faintly, the former Lord nodded and looked down at his breakfast.

“Harry,” trying to break the tension, Narcissa requested, “Could you give me your sewing kit before you leave, please?”

“My what?” The young man asked confused before he turned towards his elf. “Do we have a sewing kit?”

“Certainly, Sir.” The house elf snapped, and an old, oversized basket appeared on the table between Harry and Narcissa. Gathering an overview of its contents, the Lady noticed that, though it must not have been used in years, everything seemed to be in order. She even spotted a spool of yarn the same shade as the carpet. “This certainly will do, thank you very much.”

\--O-O--

When Harry and Lucius returned around five that evening, the Lord allowed himself some rest before dinner, while the younger man once again entered his office to send an owl to Bill Weasley.

They had spent the better part of the day moving boxes. Yet, when they had encountered a particularly resilient chest, that just would not bulge, Harry and Lucius had exhausted themselves trying to get it out of the attic. All they could do now was request help. Once the letter was written, Harry opened the window and looked around his garden. “Fox, are you here? I have a letter to deliver.” Leaving the window wide open, the young man returned to his desk and pulled a bag of owl-treats from the last drawer to the right.

About seven months ago, he and Neville had followed a lead to an abandoned owlery near Eastbourne. No sign of Death Eater activities had been discovered, but in the last nest, they had found a young red feathered owl with a broken wing.

Harry had not wanted a new pet, not after Hedwig. Usually he used Ministry owls or asked Ron if he could borrow Pig. But seeing the small, pitiful hooting hatchling, he had picked him up and brought him to the Ministry’s veterinary. The witch had treated the little guy with foxglove against its numerous bruises, and whenever the name of the plant had come up, the little, red owl had hooted excitedly. So, with the matter of the name out of the way, the wing mended and the bird on his way to recovery, it had become clear who he had chosen as his owner. Neville and Harry found him in their office, nesting in one of Neville’s plants four days out of seven. So, when the vet-witch declared him healed, it had never been in question, who would take the little guy.

So, reluctantly, Harry had cleared out the owlery at Grimmauld Place, only to discover that Fox preferred to sleep in an old tree, at the edge of the property. Also, the blasted owl had the tendency to go hunting whenever the fancy struck. Sometimes he was gone for days on end, despite being fed regularly, leaving Harry – once again – with the need to use other owls to deliver his letters. No matter his origins, Fox was no ‘domesticated’ pet, so Harry had learned not to worry and to find alternatives to deliver his mail. In fact, he and Foxglove were more like roommates than owner and pet, and though Harry made sure that plenty of treats were available, whenever he needed Fox for a delivery, he sometimes had to wait.

Though chances usually were fifty-fifty if the bird would come, today his owl graced him with a visit. Of course, he first circled the room, then graciously accepted a treat, before he allowed Harry to pet him. Only after their ritual was completed did he hold out his claw for the letter.

“Get this to Bill Weasley. According to Ron, he’s residing at the Burrow. But I have no doubt that you’ll find him wherever he is.” Apparently agreeing with the statement, Fox nibbled on Harry’s finger affectionately before soaring out of the window.

Eyeing the files from work, the young man pushed them to the side and decided to find Narcissa, to discover the progress she had made.

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the man, Harry summed up after a few minutes of contemplation. “So, you tell me, after you violated the confidentiality of my work that you want to talk to the prisoner my partner and I have detained a week ago. Alone, mind you, and that I should simply trust your word if I ought to charge him or let him go.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potter entered the Head Auror’s office with the words, “Accio pencil-cup.”  
> Auror Robarts recovered instantly from the unexpected intrusion and redirected his wand as soon as he spotted Lucius. His angry question, “What is he doing here?” got ignored. Instead, Harry held the porcelain cup firm in his hands while demanding, “I want my vassal to talk to Lostrife. I think he can help us.”  
> The Head Auror had no qualm about sharing his opinion. “Potter, have you gone mad? Or did that bastard somehow put a spell on you? Otherwise, I really can’t imagine why you would make such a ludicrous request. This is completely and utterly out of the question!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not posting last week but this chapter needed a little more time. However, I promise it will be worth it.

As it turned out, the family-tree looked exactly the same, with the Lady Malfoy brooding in the armchair. The sewing kit sat open on the small table beside her, obviously having been used. Confused Harry wanted to know, “Are the tools not sufficient? Do you need anything else?”

“No,” she snapped. “The magic of the carpet is just stubbornly resisting me. Once I was finished adding cousin Sirius’ name, it incinerated.”

“Oh,” the young man commented weakly, trying hard to swallow the pain that welled up at yet another disappointment. Trying not to let it show, he forced a smile. “Well, you have tried, and I am grateful. I guess it really is of no use. Walpurga’s magic is too strong.”

“No!” Narcissa hissed icily. “Walpurga is dead, and I will be damned before I let this witch stand in the way of your happiness. I am the guardian of your family-tree now. Its magic has recognised me already so I will find a way to make this work. Even without a wand. Please, excuse me, Harry.”

Dumbfounded, the young wizard looked from the carpet to the now closed door. What exactly had just happened?

\--O-O--

The next morning, Harry found the papers in his office in disarray but thought none of it since he had never banned Kreacher from cleaning this room.

In the afternoon, Fox found him on the terrace of Malfoy Manor, where Harry and Lucius allowed themselves a spot of tea before descending into the cellar again. The house was indeed a vast source of dark artefacts, and the former Lord couldn’t even recall the purpose of half of them. Fortunately, Bill had promised to make time next week, but had suggested keeping the majority of the items far away from each other. So, the men spent the remains of the afternoon distributing their findings into different rooms before Harry apparated them back to Grimmauld Place.

During dinner, everybody agreed that the Malfoys would return to their home at the beginning of the next week, leaving Draco with Harry. Actually, the blond’s residency never came up, but when accidental magic made the goblets on the table vibrate, as relocation was discussed, nobody breached the subject of the young man returning home.

Despite Narcissa reporting but another failure with the carpet, Harry was not overly bothered. In a way, it was good to know that a former member of the Black family shared his determination to get Sirius back into the fold. The fact that it worked with little success, at first, helped to make Harry realise that he had not been ignorant of an obvious solution.

Having just left the second bedroom on his floor, he found Kreacher nervously wringing his hands in the corridor. Even before Harry could ask what was wrong – strange because while his elf knew not to disturb him when with their live-in-patient, cases of emergency were the exception to every rule – the elf burst out, “Master Longbottom is in the parlour. He just told Kreacher to get Sir.”

Bounding down the stairs, Harry found his friend waiting in the living-room, surrounded by the three Malfoys who either wanted to know what was going on or fussing over the slowly healing cut over the Auror’s left eye. Entering the room, Harry merely traded a look with his partner, before he turned around, “Accio Auror’s robe.”

Closing the buttons, he informed his house-guests. “I don’t know when I will be back. Should you need anything, please have Kreacher fetch Sero or Tilla. If they can get it for you, it’s probably safe. Otherwise stay here and entertain yourselves in any way you see fit.” Turning towards Neville, he didn’t even wait for a confirmation, already asking, “How are we doing this?”

“Side-along apparition. Robarts and Kingsley are already waiting for you.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

The two Aurors were out of the door a heartbeat later, leaving the Malfoys to share concerned glances. “Do you think Harry is going to be alright, father?” Draco voiced his worries.

Though he would prefer to be able to put his son at ease, Lucius reluctantly admitted. “I do not know, Draco. But with both the Head Auror and the Minister of Magic on the scene, I am afraid the circumstances are dire.”

\--O-O--

Not having slept as peacefully as had become the habit in Grimmauld Place, the Malfoy family sipped an early tea not long after dawn, when Harry stumbled through the front door. His hair was unruly, even more so than usual, and his robes appeared frayed at the edges. The toll this night had taken was visible on his face. His pale complexion made his blood-shot eyes stand out even more. Gaze gliding past his guests, Harry did not seem to be all there, but he wolfed down the sweet-smelling porridge Kreacher had placed in front of him before stumbling out of the kitchen.

With a concerned expression, Narcissa folded her napkin and rose from the table. “I better make sure he doesn’t break his neck on the way to the shower.” But Draco held her back.

“We are not allowed on the third landing, mother. Those are Harry’s ‘private’ rooms, and he does not wish for any of us to invade them.”

Slowly sitting back down, the Lady looked up. Yet her husband put her mind at ease. “This is Potter’s home. I am sure he can navigate it blind, and from the looks of it, he had no intention of doing anything but fall into bed and sleep for a week.”

Cleaning away the dishes, Kreacher revealed, “Sir splays out in bed most undignified after nights like these. But Kreacher will change the covers come afternoon and freshen up Sir’s closet.”

“See, love, nothing to worry about.”

\--O-O--

The family was holed up in different rooms when Harry shuffled down the stairs around two. Mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’, he began to savour the steak with glazed carrots and mashed potatoes Kreacher had seared to perfection. The muggle-raised wizard was aware that most people preferred their meat medium-rare. The Dursley’s had ‘taught’ him about that particular liking quite ferociously. But to Harry, spotting raw flesh in the middle of his steak was rather sickening. He had left the dinner-table more than once after moving into his home until his elf had learned to serve his meat just short of well-done. Taking his time with the delicious treat, Harry's mind inevitably returned to last night’s assignment.

It had not been his first hostage situation since joining the Aurors. It had not even been his first time as a negotiator. His name held more influence than his skill, despite having gone through the appropriate course twice. Tonight, however, had been his first time that the hostages had been kids. A squib - the one responsible for running the orphanage that played host to this crime - had threatened the Ministry that she would poison her charges if her demands were not met.

The most appalling thing for Harry had been the realisation that the demands of the desperate woman were entirely reasonable. She had wanted additional support for those children, who showed an inclination for magic, and the personnel and means to educate them. Sadly, the way she had gone about it had been all wrong. Threatening the kids she was supposed to protect … well, it hadn’t worked out.

They had had to break her out of the cellar where she had convinced her charges-slash-hostages that they would have a slumber party. Harry had even spotted empty mugs of cocoa and candy wrappers on the floor. Most horrible had been the cries of the children when they had finally managed to break down the door and their outrage when understanding that the red-robed people would take their ‘Nona’ away.

Since about three in the morning, Harry had concentrated his efforts on convincing Kinsley to meet the issued demands, despite the Ministry’s hard-lined rule of not giving in to the demands of terrorists. Neville had been invaluable, backing him up, reciting ancient rules of Wizarding Britain that would further their cause. They had found somewhat of a middle ground when the Minister had promised a wide-spread check of all orphanages in the United Kingdom and a revision of the regulations on dealing with magical children.

“Did the office send the casework already?”

“Yes, Sir,” his house-elf confirmed. “all in your office.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry pushed back from the table. “And thanks for the steak. It was, as always, delicious.”

Chuckling at the elf’s familiar complaints about the ‘ruination’ of perfectly good meat, and his owner's 'plebeian' palate, Harry approached his office to start on his preliminary report. He froze when he found Lucius Malfoy sitting in his chair.

\--O-O--

The former Lord had no time to react when the door was opened. His wand snapped into Harry’s hand faster than either of them could blink. Slowly and very controlled, the young man entered the room and commanded quietly, “Get up, and step away from my desk.”

Cautiously, Lucius did as he had been told, holding out his hands to indicate that he was neither holding any of the documents nor was about to do anything stupid. His blood turned to ice when Harry reached behind himself and thumbed the lock closed.

Searching his mind for something to say that might placate his new master, make him lower the wand, the pureblood tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. Yet, before he could find the words, the young man asked in an even tone, “Now, Lucius, would you enlighten me, why you consider it even remotely acceptable to not only invade the privacy of my office but to carelessly go over confidential files from the Auror’s department of the Ministry of Magic? And please, do not bother lying to me, because I can promise you, you wouldn’t like me when I’m being lied to.”

Slowly, Harry crowded the older man into a corner. His wand was now hovering a hair’s width from the white-haired’s throat, steady and unwavering.

The former Death Eater could not help but shiver. He had lived under the same roof as Voldemort, but even towards the end, he had always been able to predict his Lord’s actions. They had been vile, torturous and painful, but he had known what to expect. Harry Potter was an unknown factor. His face was void of emotion, and the pureblood could imagine him casting a curse as easily as petrifying him and shipping him back to Azkaban. Or – even worse – round up Lucius’ family and send them back to the Manor, where they would suffer isolation and starvation, entirely at the mercy of an Auror who had none for former followers of the Dark Lord.

Suffocated by the horrible consequences this man could heap upon his family with but a word, Lucius could not keep the fear out of his voice, when he breathed, “Please, my Lord, I did not mean any harm.”

“No?” The raven-haired inquired, composedly. “And why should I believe anything you say after you have so clearly violated my privacy?"

Knowing how this had to look, the former Lord slowly sank to his knees. Voldemort had cherished such docile gestures while explaining, “During your conversation with Mr Longbottom on Sunday, you mentioned not being able to charge your latest prisoner. I thought I might be able to find something to help. I swear, my Lord, on the lives of my family, I had no ill intentions!” For a heartbeat, Lucius thought he could see understanding and mercy in Potter’s eyes, but when someone tried to open the door, his impassive mask snapped back in place.

“Lucius? Why is the door locked? Are you alright?”

Terrified, Lucius blindly reached for his liege’s wrist and whispered pleadingly, “She has nothing to do with this, I swear. Please, I’m begging you, don’t involve her. I will gladly take any punishment, but please, don’t hurt my wife.”

Looking down at the frightened man, who cowered at his feet, the young Auror commanded calmly. “Lucius is not available at the moment, Narcissa. Please, leave.”

After an endless minute, where the former Lord barely dared to breathe, his wife agreed reluctantly. “Yes, my Lord.” Clearly, Narcissa knew that something was going on, but decided to follow Potter’s order not to get involved.

Breathing easier, Lucius dropped his gaze. After countless minutes, Harry lowered his wand and stepped back. The pureblood, however, waited for a gesture before he rose from the floor.

Returning to his desk, the young Auror took a seat and sorted through his papers. Only when he was sure that everything was in order, did he look up.

“Two things, and I would sincerely suggest you keep them in mind, otherwise unpleasant confrontations, such as this, might happen with uncomfortable regularity. First, this is my office where I keep not only my private but also all of my work-related paperwork. I expect from you to never, ever again, enter without my permission. Is that understood?”

Dreading number two, because this was an entirely sensible request, Lucius nodded, “Yes, my Lord.”

“Second,” Harry continued, but interrupted himself with an exasperated, “Lucius, look at me.” Meeting his vassal’s eyes, he stated with absolute conviction. “I will never, ever, under any circumstances, use your family against you. One of you makes a mistake, that person – and that person only – suffers the consequences. I’m aware that you have a hard time catching up, but I am not Tom! I will not take it out on your wife and son if you anger me. Alright?”

Lucius did not know if he was supposed to laugh or cry or sink to his knees once more, to thank his master for his benevolence. Harry solved his dilemma, when he commanded, “Sit down for god’s sake. Kreacher, we need tea!”

When the young man offered a steaming cup, the pureblood took it with trembling fingers and mumbled, “Thank you, my Lord.”

“I’m not Him!”

With a weak smile, Lucius corrected himself, “No, you are most certainly not. Thank you, Harry.”

“You’re welcome,” the young man replied, serving himself before leaning back in his chair, inquiring. “Now, explain to me what you meant when you said you only went over my documents because you wanted to help.”

A part of the former Death Eater was reluctant to believe that his master would let him off the hook that easy. But since he had no way of predicting Potter’s actions, he complied. “As a future Lord, I have been trained from a very young age to be familiar with our laws. My father was steadfast in his belief that the leader of a family knows the base of our justice system, down to the last paragraph. That, combined with my personal experience in You-Know… Voldemort’s service grants me a unique insight into a dark wizard’s mind. If there is anything to this man’s claims of having been forced by a curse or potion, I might be able to find it. If not, I have the knowledge to help you build a case against him, so he will never set foot on the shores of Britain again.”

“And what would you need to be able to determine whether he is innocent or guilty?”

“I would have to talk to him. Alone, if I should have any hope of an unimpeded judgement.”

Looking at the man, the Auror summed up after a few minutes of contemplation. “So, you tell me, after you violated the confidentiality of my work that you want to talk to the captive my partner and I detained a week ago. Alone, mind you, and that I should simply trust your word if I ought to charge him or let him go.”

Barely able to keep his hands from shaking, because after hearing this spelt out, Lucius realised what a ridiculous idea this had been from the beginning, the former Lord lowered his eyes and stated quietly. “Forgive me, my liege. It seems that I have not thought this through.”

“No, you have not,” Harry mumbled, messing up his hair. After a moment, he rose and instructed, “Fine, go, change. We’ll meet in front of the floo in fifteen minutes.”

“Where … where are we going?”

“To the Ministry of course.”

\--O-O--

Only sheer determination held Lucius Malfoy upright when flooing to his doom.

Narcissa had waited for him, anxious to find out what had happened in Potter’s office. But all the Lord had been able to muster was a loving kiss on her forehead, before he had left for the parlour. He had not even gone to find Draco, too worried that he might lose his composure when seeing his son engaged in a menial task, because he had traded his freedom for Lucius’ survival.

In the end, Draco, was better off without him, since every single decision he had made for their family had ended in disaster. Therefore, it did not alarm the former Lord, that his liege led him back to the Auror Department. There was no safer place to lock him up before they got the chance to send him back to prison. He was, however, surprised when Potter entered the Head Auror’s office with the words, “Accio pencil-cup.”

Auror Robarts recovered instantly from the unexpected intrusion and redirected his wand as soon as he spotted Lucius. His angry question, “What is he doing here?” got ignored. Instead, Harry held the porcelain cup firm in his hands while demanding, “I want my vassal to talk to Lostrife. I think he can help us.”

“What?”

“Pardon?”

Though their questions were formulated with different levels of eloquence, Lucius' and Robarts' thunderstruck expressions were near identical. But where the Lord remained quiet from then on, the Head Auror had no qualm about sharing his opinion. “Potter, have you gone mad? Or did that bastard somehow put a spell on you? Otherwise, I really can’t imagine why you would make such a ludicrous request. This is completely and utterly out of the question!”

With a sigh, the young Auror gestured towards the chairs, “Sir, may I sit, please?”

Reluctantly, the other wizard made an inviting gesture, yet refrained from including Lucius. It did not matter anyway. In public it would be entirely inconceivable for a vassal to claim a position equal to his liege. People in his position were meant to be seen, to increase the prestige of their masters. Hence it was expected of Lucius to stay in the background while displaying his excellent breeding and perfect manners.

“Alright, now do me the favour of explaining – **in detail** – why you think it’s a good idea to put two Death Eaters into the same room. We want Lostrife locked up, not help him to forge escape plans with one of his former … business associates.” He spat out the last word, making it very clear what he thought of the pureblood at the back.

Taking a deep breath, Harry put the cup back on the table, like a peace offering. “Lucius Malfoy has the knowledge and desire to help us. All he needs is the opportunity.” Holding up his hand to ward off an interruption, he continued. “I know you don’t trust him, Sir, and honestly, it would be naïve of me to expect you to. But we are stuck with this case, and we all know it. We need help, so, I guess what I am here to ask is: can you trust me, to take this chance to make things right.”

With a deep sigh, the older Auror massaged the bridge of his nose, mumbling, “I hate you so much right now, Potter.”

Heartfelt, Harry sat in his chair, kneading his hands, “I know, Sir.”

Groaning, the older wizard straightened and composed a note, folding it into an aeroplane before sending it on its way. “The bastard will wait for you in interrogation chamber two. I want Longbottom and Granger at your side at all times and if you leave **him** ,” he gestured dismissive towards Lucius, “out of your sight for even a heartbeat, I’ll fire you faster than you can say Expelliarmus. Are we clear?”

Rising, Harry bowed. “Crystal clear, Sir.”

“Now get out of my office. And I want an extensive summary of that conversation.”

“Yes, Sir,” the raven confirmed when ushering Lucius out of the office.

\--O-O--

“Master?”

“Not Him.”

“Forgive me, but in public only ‘Master’ or ‘my Lord’ are appropriate forms of addressing one’s liege,” Lucius explained while they wandered the corridors to reach Harry and Neville’s office.

“Fine,” the young Auror gave in, stopping a young witch, who was carrying a bunch of files. “Violet, could you please be a dear and pop up to Hermione Granger and tell her I need her in my office immediately? I’ll bring these to Hillston for you.”

Blushing a little, the witch handed over the papers and dashed out. After delivering the missives to the Auror in the office next to theirs, Harry was relieved to find Neville clipping away on their flower-wall. The entire remaining wall-space was covered with pictures, spell descriptions and other incident reports. Harry was used to his partner working this way. The other Auror claimed that it was easier for him to spot connections in the corner of his eyes when dealing with plants and since they had an 87% success-rate, Harry had decided that he could live with such morbid wallpaper from time to time.

“Harry, what are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

Closing and locking the door behind them, Harry shared, “Lucius has an idea.”

\--O-O--

Watching the conversation between the two Death Eaters, from behind an enchanted wall, Head Auror Robarts demanded. “Please, explain to me one more time, why you think this is a good idea. And use small words. Otherwise, I doubt that I can follow your leaps of mind.”

Standing between an attentive Neville and Hermione who was diligently transcribing the conversation, Harry shrugged, “We’re stuck, no matter what. I thought that any chance to produce legal evidence would work to our advantage.”

“Mister Potter!”

“Alright,” Aware that his superior could read him by now, the young wizard admitted. “According to Lucius, this can go two ways. Either he finds some hard evidence for us to use, or he discovers his ‘brother-in-arms’ to be innocent. In that case, he will try to persuade me to let him go.”

Robarts snapped, “And this is of no concern to you why? If he pleads innocent, we will know he has a hidden agenda!”

“Exactly,” Harry replied calmly since no Auror present considered Lostrife to be innocent. They always did thorough research on their targets, since capturing innocents was generally frowned upon. Robarts, Neville and Harry knew that the bastard in the interrogation chamber to be guilty as sin. “We either get new evidence, or we gain proof that my vassal is lying to me. In that case, I have no issue whatsoever, to send him back to Azkaban. Together with his new friend, of course.”

“So, this is a test,” Robarts concluded. “You are using our current case to test Malfoy's trustworthiness.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry confirmed. “As I said: we are stuck anyway. So no matter what Mr Malfoy tells us, it’s a win-win situation.”

“That is highly morally ambiguous,” Neville remarked, looking over Hermione’s shoulder, before grinning at his partner. “I didn't know you had it in you, Harry.”

When Lucius left the interrogation chamber, an hour later, he came face to face with the witch and wizard who had watched and most likely judged every word he had spoken. Of course, it was the Head Auror who wanted to know, “So, are you about to tell me that Lostrife is telling the truth about the Imperius and should be spared a prison sentence?”

“On the contrary, Sir.” The pureblood gave his opposite an icy smile. “With what I have learned, you will be able to lock him away for the rest of his life.” He was barely able to hide the satisfaction when he noticed his liege and the young Lord Longbottom sharing a high-five behind their superior’s back.

\--O-O--

“I wonder if he was ever your friend, or merely someone you associated with out of necessity.” Harry pondered, leaning against the foot of the bed, resting his chin on his entwined hands. “See, the thing is, I don’t know if I should share any details about his new life with you. Are you even interested? Is Lucius Malfoy in any way important to you, or did you just share the same ambition, once upon a time? Maybe it doesn’t matter, anyway, because, despite what the medi-witches and -wizards say, you are not aware of what is going on around you. Maybe, …” he swallowed around a constricting throat. “Maybe Nagini did, in fact, kill you, and all I do is cling to a corpse, too stubborn to let the last connection to my mother go.

“Do you hate me? Because I simply can’t let you move on?” With a sigh, the young wizard shook his head, as if to brush off these thoughts. “Anyway, Malfoy Senior did a fine thing today. He helped me with a case and discovered details we need for a conviction. Hermione is ready to worship the ground he walks on, in exchange for his insight. We agreed that Lucius will defend this jerk, while Hermione works on putting him away for good. They can’t actually work together, but since Neville and I have to follow the leads Lucius provides, some of the findings might get shipped to the Department of Law … well, potentially.”

Dragging his fingers through his unruly hair, Harry chuckled. “What I mean to say was that Lucius Malfoy did right today, so I believe there is a chance for redemption. At least if he keeps making decisions that help people, rather than condemning them. If he were your friend, you could be proud of him.”

With a gentle smile, Harry stepped up to the comatose man’s bedside and gently brushed a strand of dark hair out of his face. “Just like mum would be proud of you,” he whispered before adding in a slightly hoarse voice, “Good night, Sir.”

\--O-O--

Kreacher was waiting in the corridor, making Harry asked concerned, “Already?”

Trying to find a way around the constriction Draco had placed on him, the elf shared, “After your quarrel with Mister Malfoy, Mistress and the young Master were quite concerned. Kreacher served dinner, but they barely ate before retiring early.”

Rolling his eyes, the young wizard demanded to know, “Did Lucius at least talk to Narcissa about what happened?”

“Yes, Sir. Mistress was much more at ease after that.”

“Alright, let’s see if I can calm Draco.”

\--O-O--

“No … No … NO!” Harry’s whimpers rose steadily until he was shouting from the top of his lungs, frantically ripping off his shirt. “Get it off me. GET IT OFF!”

His wand snapped into his hand with barely a thought of the Accio-spell, when the door snapped open, revealing a furious Lucius Malfoy, who took in the scene for a mere heartbeat, before he shouted, “How dare you, you ungrateful, little half-blood? I do everything in my power to help you, and in exchange, you molest my son? You should be ashamed of …”

Still half trapped in the clutches of his nightmare, Harry’s wand arm was shaking, barely able to aim at the furious man, who advanced on him with burning eyes. His mind was already going over possible hexes, he could use to defend himself, when suddenly Draco flung himself between them, arms stretched wide.

“Harry,” The blond soothed anxiously, “Everything is okay. You are home. The war is over. Nobody is trying to hurt you.” Carefully, the young man removed the tatters of Harry’s shirt, before gently placing trembling fingers over the raven-haired’s heart. “Whatever it was, it is gone now. See?”

Taking breath after breath, trying to calm his galloping heart, the saviour-of-the-wizarding-world lowered his wand and brushed over Draco’s fingers and his chest as if to assure himself that he really was free. After nodding slowly, the blond got up from the bed, and turned around, scolding. “And now to you, father. Don’t you think it would be appropriate to knock on my bedroom door instead of barging in? Potter and I could have been in the middle of something!”

Sputtering, Lucius demanded to know, “How can you be so casual about this? You’ve never shown any interest in … men, and now …”

Folding his arms before his chest, Draco glared, “Because Potter has the right. I offered myself in exchange for your life, so even if he wanted to shag me over the kitchen table, he would **have the right**! Now leave.”

Horrified, the former Lord shook his head, reaching for his son, who merely stepped back, closer to his host, and evaded his gaze. “Draco, no …” The white-haired man whispered, before searching Harry’s gaze, pleading. “Not my son, please. Send me back to prison. I don’t even care, just … Draco has suffered enough. Please …”

Of course, Narcissa had followed her husband, as soon as the screams had woken them. However, since entering the room, she had but watched and listened. So, she had noticed Draco’s bedding, only thrown back partially, because Harry weighted down the other half. She saw both young men wearing their pyjamas, despite their host’s being half torn to pieces, him scratching his naked chest subconsciously. But most prominently, she observed the thinly veiled terror in Harry’s eyes, when his gaze dashed from Lucius, to Draco and back to himself, before he began the circle anew, as if unsure what was about to happen.

Trying to defuse the situation, she put a calming hand on Lucius’ arm, deciding, “We will go back to bed and leave the boys to sort this out for themselves.”

“Narcissa!” Her husband spat out, but was interrupted by a determined, “Now, Lucius.”

The man was apparently hesitant to let his wife pull him out of the room, but knew better than to defy her when she used that tone.

Once his parents had closed the door behind them, Draco turned around. Fidgeting with the seam of his pyjamas, he did not look up when asking, “Is that what you want, Harry? Because you certainly fulfilled your end of the bargain and if you’re just trying to ease me into it, let me tell you that it is not necessary. You only have to tell me.”

Looking at the blond, tired and shivering from leftover adrenalin, Harry asked incredulously, “Is that really what you think this is about?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, the blond shook his head. “No,” he admitted quietly. “But I would really prefer you letting me sleep alone, instead of looming over me like I’m some prized possession.”

“Draco, I …” but before Harry could even begin to give an explanation, he realised that he had no way of doing so, without revealing his true reason for being here. Not wanting to embarrass the blond, he merely repaired his top and gathered his comforter. “You are right, I should not have done that. I apologise. Sleep well.”

“Thank you,” the blond replied, before adding, just as Harry was about to leave, “And thank you, for saving my father. I don’t know if I have said it before, but I am really grateful.”

With a tired smile, Harry gestured for him to return to bed. “You’re welcome.”

\--O-O--

He shivered on his way upstairs. It had been months … alright, weeks, since he had dreamed of the locket strangling him and drowning in that cursed pool. Had Ron not been there he would have died, in the middle of nowhere, while reaching for an enchanted sword. Pulling the comforter tighter around himself, Harry shivered when he made his way over to the second bedroom. He still knocked, despite knowing that he would never get an answer. Slipping in, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Sir. But I can’t be alone right now.”

Gently, he shuffled the patient’s socked feet to the side, making room on the bottom of the bed. In the beginning, the man’s feet had been bare, his body only clad in black pyjamas, because – let’s be reasonable – no other colour would suffice. Yet on a particularly cold winter-day, Harry had noticed his feet to be ice-cold. Horrified, the young wizard had instantly bought a dozen soft wool socks, all black of course. Having lived most of his childhood with cold feet, because Dudley’s old shoes and Uncle Vernon’s hand-me-down socks had done little to keep them warm, he had not been able to stomach the idea of his patient being so neglected.

Now, they were toasty warm, when Harry set them to the side. Then he carefully wrapped himself into his comforter before curling up on the not overly large bed. He had to feel something, some kind of human contact because despite Ron having been there and having saved him, a part of his mind was still trapped in the horrible ‘what ifs’.

Harry knew that he would wake up with the man’s hand on his head. Somehow, he always managed to worm his way up. And though he would feel horrible of having imposed so rudely, he simply felt too vulnerable right now to get up and return to his room.

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What is my redeeming quality?" Lucius burst out suddenly. Since he had been studying his opposite, he did not miss the small smile the young man hid before looking up.  
> "I was wondering how long it would take you, to return to that question."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are aware that you cannot keep it?" Lucius asked after a while. He had debated with himself to find a way for his son to enjoy the gift that seemed so precious to him but had found none. "The boy himself said that he had intended to give it to Potter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I'm posting a little randomly, but I can promise you, this story is far from tapering off. I've written nearly an entire chapter on Sunday alone, so the creativity is flowing. Have a lot of fun.

The situation from last night seemed to have resolved itself naturally. Neither did Lucius glare at him over the breakfast table nor did Draco act notably subdued, on the contrary. The blond had an animated discussion with his mother, about a book on blood-magic he had found in the library. On the one hand, Harry asked himself how much time the Slytherin actually spent on the task he had set him upon. On the other hand, for all he cared, Draco could spend his days reading the entire library, as long as that kept him entertained and away from the Manor. The last week had done the young man a lot of good because although he was still pale, his face had lost the pasty complexion and the rings under his eyes had vanished.

Interrupting his son when he drew breath, Lucius remarked, “If it were convenient for you, I would like to return to the Manor today. If I am supposed to draw up a defence, for that pathetic excuse of a Death Eater, I need access to my books. It will not do much good, but if I don’t at least pretend, Mister Lostrife might get free on the excuse of a negligent defender.”

Concerned, Harry wanted to know, “Do you think there is any chance for him to go free?”

The pureblood smiled comfortingly and shook his head, “Even if Miss Granger-Weasley were half as good at her job as she is, she would still be able to gain a conviction. However, since she excels at everything she does, there is no way for Mister Lostrife to ever see the light of day again. You convicted me on half the evidence we have on him.”

“And yet, here you are.” Harry smiled. It was not meant as a reprimand. Lucius Malfoy had shown outstanding redeeming qualities. He deserved a second chance. Westron Lostrife, however, had used his Dark Mark as an excuse to torment muggles and muggleborn, even after the war. Only because of the stupid prejudice that blood was in any way significant.

Quietly, Lucius interrupted Harry’s train of thought. “Not for the lack of evidence. If you so wish, you could send me back to Azkaban in a heartbeat and lock me away for good.”

At Draco’s pained noise, Harry briefly reached out and brushed his thumb over the blond’s wrist. “Yes, I could,” he agreed readily. “But what good would that do? You have extensive knowledge of our laws and a unique insight into the minds of Death Eaters. You can do a lot of good. What would I be if I denied you that chance?”

“Human,” the pureblood replied. “You have suffered from my hand. Still, you are willing to believe in my redemption. Why?”

“Because of your one redeeming quality.” Rising, Harry prompted. “Let’s go. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

\--O-O--

After they had arrived at the Manor, Harry had encouraged the former Lord to start on his task, before dashing off to get them some coffee. Sure, house elves had strong magic, but somehow not even Kreacher got the flavours exactly right. Returning with two lattes and a batch of scones, Harry found his vassal already emerged in several tomes. When he offered the coffee, the pureblood looked down his nose at the paper−cup, but dutifully took a sip. He groaned when the flavours exploded on his tongue. "By Merlin, what is this?"

"Pumpkin Spiced Latte with whipped cream on top."

Frowning, the wizard looked up. "This is the drink you denied me before."

Pulling up a chair, Harry shrugged. "You've eaten normally for the last five days. I think it is safe now. Also, I ordered but a dash of whipped cream and your milk is skimmed."

For a moment the former Lord looked at his liege, before taking another sip and returning to work. Still, after a few minutes, he gazed up and studied the young man, who seemed lost in Granger's transcription of yesterday's interview. Potter had had no compunction of claiming a part of the oversized desk for himself and was taking notes diligently. It was rare for Lucius to have someone look after him. His mother had cared of course but had bent to the rules of his overly demanding father. Narcissa had taken up caring for his well−being, as was expected of a dutiful wife. But Harry Potter, though his liege, should feel no according compulsion to watch out for Lucius. Of course, he was of more use if he was healthy and fit. But not being able to stomach something was hardly a terminal illness. Yet the young man had not only shown concern for his physical but his emotional well−being as well. No matter how he thought of it, the pureblood could not determine why.

"What is my redeeming quality?" He burst out suddenly.

Since he had been studying his opposite, he did not miss the small smile the young man hid before looking up.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to return to that question."

When he received no immediate reply, Lucius prompted again, "So?"

Instead of answering, Harry put down his scrolls and stepped to the window. "How much do you know about 'the prophecy'?"

Trying to recall what Severus had told them all those years ago, the former Death Eater intoned, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies!" Lucius shrugged, admitting. "That is all I ever learned. That night the Lord spent many hours pondering if Alice and Frank Longbottom were those in question or Lily and James Potter. I think the final decision was only made after Pettigrew was captured. The Dark Lor… Voldemort saw it as a sign that we caught the secret keeper of your parents and went to Godric's Hollow, the next night." A shaking breath from the window made him rise and approach the young wizard who had saved them all. Hesitant, he placed a hand on the man's shoulder before stating quietly, "I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, rubbing his eyes, Harry cleared his throat before adding in a hoarse voice. "And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have powers the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives." Swallowing heavily, the boy-who-lived turned away from the window, where he had kept his gaze trained on the desolate garden, looking at the white-haired man. "He marked me as his equal, gave me that scar but until the very end, he could not understand the power that made me return after he had killed me. The ability that enabled me to finally defeat him."

When Lucius looked at him puzzled, the young man smiled again. "And you don't understand either, do you? Even though it is **your** redeeming quality. The only thing I could believe in, so I could let you out of Azkaban and give you a second chance."

Reluctantly, the Lord confirmed. "You are right. I don't understand." And really, he hated not understanding, especially the one thing he had apparently done right.

"It's love, Lucius. The love of my mother saved me from the killing curse. My love for my friends made me come back when I had every right to go on. Narcissa's love for Draco saved me in the woods when she lied for me, so I had a chance to defeat Tom. And your love for your family made you turn your back on the dark **and** light side, though you knew it would make you the most hated man in Britain."

"It didn't matter!" Lucius whispered, lowering his eyes. "As long as Draco and Narcissa were safe, nothing mattered!"

"I know," Harry soothed the other wizard, gently reaching out. "Draco came to me, because his love for you was worth risking everything, just to give you a chance to live. Your family is such a strong unit, despite all the trials and tribulations you all have gone through. If the three of you don't get your chance for redemption, what would have been the point of it? A thirst for power and a desire to rise above all others made an orphaned half−blood a Dark Lord. If we can't accept that love is more important than power, the next war is just around the corner."

The pureblood pondered this for a few moments, before swearing, "I will do everything I can, so you won't regret giving us this chance. I will work hard to prove you right." Because, despite everything, this young man had suffered in his short life, he still thrived to make their world a better place. After the horrors Voldemort had put them through, Harry Potter was able to push away prejudice that had been as natural as breathing for Lucius Malfoy his entire life. He had even overcome any sense of pride that might stand in the way of convicting a felon, by accepting help from a former enemy. Lucius could see that, between the two of them, Potter was the better man and that simple realisation would help him in days to come to bend to his will, even without the vow.

All his life, the patriarch of the Malfoy family had learned to only submit to power. Yet after choosing the wrong side, the former Lord was willing to bow to someone with less money, less social standing − apart from fame − and maybe even less magical power, because he finally understood. There were more important things in life than power. With but a little ambition, Harry Potter would be able to become the leader of their world, and though Lucius doubted that the young wizard had an accordant desire, their world would surely be better off with him as Minister of Magic.

The pureblood was surprised when Potter's chuckle pulled him out of his thoughts. Still, he enjoyed the open smile the young man displayed after this sombre conversation. "I'll be grateful for all the help and knowledge you can give me. But, Lucius, I see the way you act around your family. The length you are willing to go to protect your son. That is all the proof I need. Above all else, be a loving husband and a caring father. That is enough confirmation for me to know that I have made the right decision."

Gazing at the table, Harry decided, "But now let's return to work. We did enough soul−searching for one day. Don't you think?"

With but a small smile, the Lord tilted his head. "As you wish, my Lord."

Rolling his eyes at the tease, the young Auror returned to his case−files.

−−O−O−−

After sharing but sandwiches at the Manor, because the stupid oven would not even let Harry heat soup, the two wizards returned to Grimmauld Place around five. While the Malfoys enjoyed a tranquil afternoon tea in the living−room, Harry went over the latest developments with Neville via floo. Unexpectedly the front door opened. Used to several people having a key to his place, Harry did not even look up, until a toddler with grass−green hair dashed into the room.

"Harry! Harry! Nana made me a new plane, look!"

Opening his arms for his overly excited godson, the young man laughed. "That's great, Teddy. Look, there is Neville. Say hello."

Scrambling off Harry's lap, the young boy shared exited, "Hi, Neville. I saw a pretty flower today. One that looks like Luna's ear … ear …" Frustrated, he turned around, "Nana, wasit called, the thingies Luna has in her ears?" When his grandmother did not give him the desire attention, he shouted, " **Nana!** "

But Andromeda stood frozen in the doorway, pale and speechless, a mirror−image of her younger sister, who had risen from the couch at her entry, unsure if any fast movement would make her sister vanish.

"Neville, I'll call you back." Their host said absent−minded, before closing the connection.

"But, Harry," Teddy protested weakly, slowly turning around, he added hesitantly. "The pretty flower …"

"I know, cub." The young wizard rose, picking up the boy who snuggled into him at once. His hair turned jet−black, and he put his thumb into his mouth, suckling nervously.

"Draco, Lucius, please, leave."

Both men were obviously doubtful as to follow that command, looking between an apprehensive Narcissa and Andromeda Tonks who had taken but one step into the room. Yet, at Harry's harsh, "Now!" they fled.

Slowly approaching the two women, he apologised quietly, "Andromeda, Narcissa, I'm sorry. I forgot that Teddy was due today. Is there anything I can do?"

Tearing her eyes away from her baby−sister, the older woman instructed in a calm voice. "Yes, Harry. You can close the door on your way out."

"Andromeda, I …" But she interrupted him with but a simple gesture. "I want to be alone with my sister. Maybe you should introduce Teddy to his uncle Draco."

Swallowing, Harry nodded and left the room. As he was just about to close the door, he heard Narcissa sob, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Andi, for everything." Then a few fast−paced steps and the meshing of clothes, before the older woman soothed, "I know, Cissy, it's alright. It's over now."

He could imagine the sister, that life had torn apart, hugging in his living room and heard Teddy giggle at his brilliant grin. But before he could continue his spying, he heard Andromeda ordering, "All the way, Harry. Thank you very much." Dutifully he closed the door before he looked at his godson, whose hair had taken a lighter tint already. "Alright, do you want to meet your uncle Draco, little man?"

Bouncing up and down, turning his hair a light blond, the boy clapped. "Dragon! I want to see the dragon!"

−−O−O−−

An hour later found the four men in the kitchen. Lucius and Harry had returned to their work so documents littered half of the kitchen−table. On the other half sat the toddler in his accustomed high−chair, bent over a long scroll, explaining to the blond, who was stirring a smoking cauldron on the stove. "And he was the guard of the pear−tree …"

"Apple−tree," Harry corrected absent−minded, pointing out one of Lostrife's statements to Lucius.

"Apple−tree." The toddler continued unfazed. "And he was the pet of this she−god Hora."

"Hera?" Draco suggested with a tiny smile.

"Right," the boy confirmed, his tongue peeking out from behind his teeth, while he coloured the edge of his scroll midnight−blue. "and he was loyal and really fer… for… Harry, what's the f−word that means angry and strong?"

Lucius, who had just taken a mouth full of tea, inhaled the liquid and coughed extensively.

Smiling innocently, Harry asked, "Do you need some water, Mr Malfoy?"

"No," the pureblood glared at the younger man. "But pray, tell me what the 'f−word' in question is."

"Well, 'fierce', of course," the raven−haired grinned, before turning towards his godson. "Isn't that right, Teddy? Hera's dragon was very fierce."

Beaming brightly, the boy bounced his head up and down. "Yes! He was proud 'n' strong 'n' fierce and really a good guard. But then Herculus came because some bloody bastard king wanted the apples and killed him dead." Starting to distribute yellow dots on his now blue paper, Teddy shook his head. "Poor dragon."

Familiar with the tale, the three men did not bother to correct the boy on the hero's name. Harry, however, put his quill down and looked at his godson. "Edward?" Flinching the boy stopped his colouring and slowly looked up. "Where have you learned that word?"

Fidgeting with his crayons, the child revealed, "Nana said it last week when she received a letter from dad's dad. She snarled that 'He would never touch me, ‘the bloody bastard.’''

Taking his time to examine the boy, Harry concluded, "So you knew it was a mean word." When the boy nodded, he continued. "And you understand neither your grandmother nor I want you to use such words." Another nod. "So, you won't use it again." A third nod, this time somewhat timid.

The Malfoys in the kitchen watched with rapt attention how a wizard, barely in his twenties, could evoke such a tremendously bad conscience in a child with but a few, calm words. Both Lucius, as well as his father, had used much harsher methods when bringing their sons to heel. They were even more surprised when they heard the young boy sniffing, asking in a thick voice, "Do you hate me now?"

"Oh, cub," Harry sighed, opening his arms to the child that scrambled out of his high−chair, faster than Draco could assist, flying into his arms. Hugging him tightly, his godfather mumbled into Teddy's hair, "No matter what you say, no matter what you do, I could never hate you. Never ever!"

The boy still sat in his arms when the door opened, and Andromeda entered the kitchen. She looked pale, a fact that made her red eyes stand out even more. Instantly, Harry was on his feet. "Do you need anything? What about Narcissa? Are the two of you alright?"

"No," Andromeda replied, forcing a small smile. "We are not alright, but we will get there. I just came to see you and Teddy and maybe get something to drink. Neither Narcissa nor I will be joining you for dinner, tonight."

Chewing on his lip, Teddy admitted reluctantly. "Harry and I were talking about bad words." Hastily he added, "But I won't use them again. Promise!"

When his grandmother caressed his head with a nod, he scrambled down from Harry's lap and picked up a slightly steaming cup from his side of the table, offering it. "Uncle Dragon made a green potion for me. He said it would make me strong and it's smoking. Look!"

Embarrassed by the praise, Draco explained, "It's just hot apple−juice with a few spices thrown in for effect. Sev…" he cleared his throat against the sudden blockage, before he continued, "Severus made it for me when I was little."

"It's a potion!" Teddy insisted, pointing at the stove. "See, he used a cauldron."

"A cauldron, my love, and please, Draco, I am sure your mother would appreciate some hot juice as much as I would."

Filling a tea−pot with the steaming liquid, Draco arranged everything on a tray, while Harry produced a few cucumber sandwiches, using magic to speed up the process. Everybody could see how much Andromeda longed to return to her sister. Handing it over, the blond dared to ask, "How does Teddy know about me, let alone that I helped Harry at the Manor and that we turned our backs on the Dark Lord in the final battle?" The boy had explained in detail what he had learned about his uncle, before starting with his story about Draco's constellation.

Looking at her nephew, Andromeda took the offered tray. "Because you are family. No matter what you chose or were forced to do in His service, you are still family. Teddy has precious few people left that share his blood. It's insensate to cut someone out of his life, just because that person made mistakes in the past. Especially if he or she learned from them and changed their ways."

"I …," Draco stammered, overwhelmed by the leniency of the aunt he had never even gotten to know. "Thank you."

Leaning over to kiss his forehead, Andromeda smiled. "You are welcome, nephew."

Dazed the blond looked down when someone pulled on his trouser−leg. "Does that mean that you like Nana now?"

"I … ahm …" looking at his father for help, Draco shrugged. "Yes, I guess I do."

"We have very few people who are willing to even talk to us. Best not to alienate those who do." Lucius suggested, demonstrating once again the cunning that had been the strength of Slytherin, but too little heart. At least in Harry's opinion.

Teddy, however, seemed unfazed by the comment. "Good. Nana was worried that you wouldn't like her. You and your mum I mean." Turning towards the older pureblood, he shared, "She believes that you will never like her, but I don't think you don't. I like you. You're Dragon's dad, and you have pretty hair." That being said, the child climbed back up his chair and continued with his picture.

Re-examining the conversation, Lucius turned towards Harry and asked, after a few moments, "Did your six-year-old godson just extend his hand in friendship to me, because of my hair?"

Biting his lips, to hide a grin, the young wizard replied smoothly, "That and your family relations to his favourite uncle. But you will win his undying devotion if you let him brush your hair tomorrow. Teddy's obsessed with hair. He goes through dozens of colours and styles each day."

"But never that long," the boy mumbled. "Draco's dad's hair is the prettiestest."

"Prettiest," Draco supplied automatically.

"Most handsome!" Lucius corrected them both indignantly. "I'm not a girl!"

Shaking his head, Teddy looked up from his picture. "Not true. Boys can be pretty too. Harry said, 'What a pretty arse!' about the guy who brought us pizza two weeks ago."

"Teddy!" Harry exclaimed scandalised, burning red to the tips of his ears while the two Malfoys could barely suppress a snicker.

"What?" The child demanded to know, completely oblivious to his godfather's mortification. "Those are not bad words."

While the raven-haired was hitting the table with his head, Lucius returned to his papers with a quiet chuckle, while Draco offered more steaming apple−juice.

−−O−O−−

Despite the utterly plebeian dinner, the Malfoy men praised their cook and consumed the provided onion soup with grilled cheese sandwiches with gusto. It would truly have taken cold−hearted people, not to enjoy the delightful display of Teddy throwing the spices, Harry had laid out for him, into the soup, demanding from his godfather to stir the concoction every two minutes before taking a sip and seasoning it some more. It had taken quite some time before the young boy had deemed the meal suitable for their guests. Slightly concerned with the overenthusiastic use of spices, Lucius and Draco had taken hesitant samples at first, before finding the dish prepared to perfection. The white−haired man inquired quietly, while the boy was distracted, "How?"

Gazing at his godson, who fought a long string of cheese with his uncle's help, Harry revealed, "I charmed the spice−dispensers to only give off a predetermined amount of product when Teddy uses them."

"And the yellow powder he used so liberally?"

"Dried and crushed onions."

At the former Lord's surprised expression, the young wizard shared, "Teddy got bored at the beginning with but three herbs to use. So, I bought dried vegetable−soup and the crushed onions. He has more fun this way."

Looking a little melancholy, Lucius remembered. "Draco was the same when he was little. Whenever Severus was around, he demanded them to brew something."

Sensing his chance, Harry picked up the other half of his sandwich. Apparently by-his-leave, he asked, "Were you friends? You and Professor Snape I mean?"

"I made him Draco's godfather."

With a small smile, the young man looked at the former Slytherin. "That's not what I asked."

Casting his eye into the past, the pureblood pondered, "I saw an advantage in binding a wizard as skilled as him to my family. As you are undoubtedly aware. But Severus … you must understand that I have always valued power and skill and though my father was reluctant for me to bring a 'no name' into our house, I always knew that Severus Snape was special. I supported him by supplying day−to−day items he could not effort, and he helped me in school and beyond."

"You 'bought' him?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, the former Lord replied, "Money was all I had to offer. When Voldemort rose to power, there was no question that I would join him. He promised influence and power, and I trusted that. Severus trusted me, so we took the oath together. He, however, realised much sooner that this way madness lay and went to Dumbledore. I guess, in his own way, Severus was stronger than me, because he chose to do what was right when he saw the error of our ways. I only turned my back, when our Lord threatened to burn my heart."

After looking into his soup for a while, letting the chatter of a child wash over him, the older man continued, "I guess in the beginning, we had a mutually beneficial friendship. But in the end, I was too fanatic to be a friend to anyone. Severus kept my son from becoming a killer, so, I guess he still was mine, or at least Draco's and that is enough for me to hold him in the highest regard."

Watching the pureblood share such uncharacteristically emotional details, it was hard for Harry to hold his tongue. But he knew that not all secrets of this house were his to share. After a while, he asked quietly, "If you could see Professor Snape one last time. What would you say to him?"

After a moment of hesitation, Lucius looked at his son, who chuckled at Teddy's antics, before decidedly turning towards Harry. "Thank you."

−−O−O−−

Once the meal was finished, the raven−haired asked, "Where is your backpack, Teddy?"

"Nana told me to put it down in the hallway. I've got everything **and** new trousers for tomorrow because we'll visit Molly!"

Chuckling, because Harry was well aware that Molly Weasley was most certainly not the female Teddy was dressing up for, he corrected, "The Weasleys are on Sunday."

"Then what are we doing tomorrow?"

Helping with the dishes, Draco had started readily, Harry inquired, "What do you want to do?"

Chewing on his bottom lip, the child decided after a few moments, "Riding!"

"Riding it is then." He had never felt particularly comfortable on horseback and had never seen the need to learn at Hogwarts. But Andromeda had made it clear that a young man of social standing was expected to ride. It was a skill one had to possess, like knowing which cutlery to use. Since Teddy had been afraid of horses at the beginning, Harry had offered to join him in his lessons. They had learned together.

Teddy had gotten over his apprehension and had taken to riding like a fish to the water. Being quite a skilled flyer, Harry had picked up the basics easily but still could not comprehend how anybody could prefer a horse over a broom.

"What about you, Dragon?" the child, pulled the trousers of the blond wizard. "Will you come?"

Startled by the cup that slipped through the blond's fingers, Harry looked up and noticed the tension in Draco's frame. Still, the young man forced a smile when shaking his head. "I'm afraid I can't, Teddy. I'm not allowed to go out and my … our horses at home were … they died a few years ago."

Baffled, Harry turned towards Lucius. "He …?"

Not looking up from the documents he had pulled out again, the former Lord deadpanned. "The horses, most of our owls and half our house−elves."

"Bastard!" Harry hissed, only to be interrupted by a delighted Teddy, "Bad word!" The child squeaked. "Harry said a bad word!"

Smirking, the young man kneeled before his godson. "You are absolutely right, cub. That was a very bad word, and I am sorry for using it. That was not okay."

With all the gravity a soon−to−be seven-year-old was capable of, the boy nodded before he held out his hand. "I understand, but you still owe me a sickle."

Sighing defeated, Harry rose and pulled the demanded coin from his pocket. Receiving the money, Teddy beamed and skipped over to a cupboard and pulled a box from one of the drawers. He carefully opened it and put the coin in. Counting the money, with his tongue peeking out, he judged, "Soon we will have enough for ice−cream."

"Ice−cream?" Lucius wondered. "But it's getting colder already."

"Doesn't matter," Teddy explained. "Harry says a bad word, I get a sickle. When I have enough sickles, Nana, Harry and I get ice−cream." At the surprised look he received, the child continued, "Ice−cream is not good for me, so I don't get it very often. The more Harry swears, the more often I get it. Nana calls it insen…"

"Incentive," Harry supplied before he ushered the child out of the kitchen. "And since I've already paid you, there is no need to tell Andromeda about this."

"Hm, hm, …" the boy replied absent−minded, sorting through his backpack until he found what he had been looking for. Inspecting the round, grey stone, that had veins of gold running through it, he looked at the kitchen and back at Harry, before chewing on his bottom lip. Timidly, he asked, "Harry, would you be sad if I gave this to Draco, so he isn't sad anymore?"

Kneeling in front of the boy, Harry studied the pendant, before shaking his head. "Not at all, cub. I think Draco would love this pendant very much."

Clearly not eased by the reassurance, Teddy whispered, "I wanted to give this to you. I made it because the stone was so pretty, and you said you liked those with metal−parts. But he doesn't have a single one, because I just met him and I …"

Interrupting the child, his godfather gently gripped his chin and kissed his forehead, tenderly assuring him, "I think it's a lovely gesture. Now give it to him and say good−night."

−−O−O−−

The Malfoys looked surprised when the little boy slipped into the kitchen again.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked concerned.

"Do you need anything?" Lucius inquired, at the same time.

Shaking his head, the child took a deep breath and held out the pendant to Draco. "I want you to have this. I made it for Harry, but now I want to give it to you. So, you aren't sad because of your horses anymore."

"I …" the blond started, but when Teddy pushed the pendant at him insistently, he accepted the gift. "Thank you, Teddy." Sinking to his knees, he hugged the boy, who kissed him on the cheek rather wetly before smiling. "Love you. Good night, Dragon. Good night, Mister Lucius," before skipping out of the kitchen."

When he couldn't find Harry in the corridor, he knocked on his study before entering. Finding his godfather sending off an owl, he shared with a delighted smile. "I think he liked it."

"Who wouldn't? Your pendants are beautiful. But now let's say goodnight to Nana and then start your bath. It's getting late already."

Raising his hands, Teddy demanded to be lifted, and after a brief send−off to his grandmother, they were on their way up to the third floor.

−−O−O−−

"You are aware that you cannot keep it?" Lucius asked after a while. He had debated with himself to find a way for his son to enjoy the gift that seemed so precious to him but had found none. "The boy himself said that he had intended to give it to Potter."

Clutching the stone so firmly that his knuckles shone white, Draco protested weakly, "But he gave it to me!"

"I know," Lucius sighed, rising and putting his hands on his son's shoulders. His child had received precious little these last few years and never anything without a hidden agenda. A present from someone as pure as Teddy Lupin; given with the only goal to make Draco forget his sadness, was infinitely precious. "But is it really worth antagonising our only source of good−will over it? We are entirely dependent on Potter. How do you think will he feel if he sees you with an offering, he has to know was meant for him? After all, Teddy didn't even know you would be here."

Taking a shuddering breath, Draco leaned forward until his head rested on his father's chest. Lucius could feel his son fighting with himself, but after a few minutes, his boy exhaled quietly and nodded against his body. Straightening again, he had regained his composure. "You are right, of course. I will finish here, and before Potter retreats for the night, I will hand over his godson's gift." As if to prove his good intentions, he balled up the pendant and shoved it into his pocket.

"Draco?" When his son looked up, Lucius briefly kissed his forehead. "I am very proud of you. Always have been, always will be."

Hugging his father just as swiftly, the young man whispered, "Thank you, dad."

Then, as always after bouts of affection, they turned away, avoiding each other's eyes, returning to their chosen tasks.

−−O−O−−

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He was surprised to find Draco on the second landing, pacing the corridor in front of the guest−rooms. The light, Harry had seen in his eyes during dinner had vanished, leaving his silver orbs dull and grey. Before he could ask about it, the blond stepped up to him, holding out his hand that clutched the pendant Teddy had given him.  
> "I'm sorry, Pot… Harry, for taking what was yours. Please, take it back."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Everything is fine," Neville assured Harry. "I'm here on personal business." Looking at the Malfoys, the pureblood inquired, "Since Luna and I helped you at the Manor last week, I wanted to ask if you were amenable to return the favour?"  
> Usually, people of their social standing would not even think about helping others clean. Yet since they were dependant on the Auror's goodwill, Lucius and Narcissa traded a glance, before she tilted her head. "We are at your service, Mr Longbottom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Together with my eternally helpful, patient and overall amazing betareader topgngoose, we managed to have another chapter ready for you. This is for all of ye of little faith, who would ever think that Harry would take something as precious from Draco as a stone on a string ;). Enjoy.

As always when giving Teddy his bath, Harry's dress-shirt was soaking wet afterwards. Since it was evening already, he just slipped on one of his old t−shirts. After putting his godson to bed, reading him two bedtime stories, he slipped into the second bedroom. He never worried about the child coming in, since Teddy was usually very well behaved, and Harry had explained to him, in no uncertain terms, that the man in the second bedroom was in an enchanted sleep and absolutely could not be disturbed. Also, it was their secret, one the boy could not even share with his grandmother, and while that had been uncomfortable in the beginning, Teddy had accepted it by now. After all, it had been like this his entire life.

So, while Harry went through the exercises, he shared everything that had happened today. He finished with, "He said 'Thank you', and I don't know if that even means anything to you because … well, because of everything that had happened. I just … it feels like something you should know." The young man shrugged somewhat uncomfortable, before pulling the comforter up and fixing it around the unmoving body. Gently he brushed the ever-present strand of black hair out of the man's face and whispered, "Good night, Sir," before leaving.

In the beginning, Harry had wondered if his patient was even still alive and not a breathing corpse - and hadn't that been a creepy thought - since the man's hair hadn't gotten any longer, and his nails hadn't grown. Yet after consulting the responsible medi−witch, aptly named Poppy, he had learned that for a wizard a coma was something akin to being frozen in time. His metabolism was slowed down to an absolute minimum, making it possible in the first place to survive on nutrition−potions and nothing else. With a sigh, because despite Hermione and Ron's help, they were no closer to finding a cure, Harry checked on Teddy before making his way downstairs again.

He was surprised to find Draco on the second landing, pacing the corridor in front of the guest−rooms. The light, Harry had seen in his eyes during dinner had vanished, leaving his silver orbs dull and grey. Before he could ask, the blond stepped up to him, holding out a hand that clutched the pendant Teddy had given him.

"I'm sorry, Pot… Harry, for taking what was yours. Please, take it back."

Studying the lanky form in front of him, Harry noticed the minuscule tremors that ran over Draco's body, betraying how much the other wizard was forcing himself to 'do the right thing'.

"Why?" he asked softly.

Clutching the stone for a moment, Draco tried to shove the boy's present at his host after that moment of hesitation. "Because it was meant to be yours. Teddy said so. I have no intentions to compete with you, over your godson's affection."

Chuckling under his breath, Harry shook his head. "You couldn't if you tried. Join me, Draco." Ignoring the pendant, Harry walked down to his office, opening the door to invite the other man in. "It's okay as long as I am with you. I was only angry with your father for entering without my permission."

Approaching a pair of blinds that decorated the wall facing the windows, Harry pulled them open, revealing a tall mirror that reflected the light of the dying sun. On the inside of the blinds were rows upon rows of little hooks. At least a dozen of them held pendants, similar to the one Draco was still holding. Every single one contained a crystal or a semi−precious stone, merged perfectly around the inlay. A few of them were decorated with veins of various metals. "My godson is fond of two things above all else: stars and stones. I receive one of these pendants every other visit."

Turning towards Draco, Harry pulled the round stone from the blond's slack fingers and held it up. "When he showed me this, he asked me if I would be disappointed if he gave it to you, to help you not to be sad any longer. Can you imagine what I replied?"

"Okay?" The blond suggested weakly.

Untangling the leather−string, Harry pulled the gift over Draco's head, so the stone sat over the other's heart. "I told him that I thought it was a lovely gesture and encouraged him to do it." Watching the blond clutch the pendant once again, not looking up, Harry continued softly, "There is no rivalry between the two of us when it comes to Teddy's love. Simply because his affections are not finite. You won't take anything from me, while his love for you grows."

"How can it?" Draco closed his eyes against the growing pain that filled his heart. "I am a horrible person. I have done unspeakable things in the past. Your godson should not even consider liking me, no matter our relations."

Guiding Draco to the chairs, that sat opposite his desk, Harry reminded him, "Don't you see? None these things matter to him. The jerk you were at school, what you did at Voldemort's command, … none of it is important. Andromeda told him that you helped me, given the chance."

Bitterly, the blond interrupted, "That hardly makes up for everything else."

"No, it doesn't," Harry sighed, frustrated because Draco seemed unable to let go of the past. "But all Teddy knows of you is that you are named after stars. That you were nice to him. And that you brewed him a potion. What you have done in the past, is of no importance, only what you do now matters."

Looking at the stone, Draco pulled it up and slipped it beneath his clothes, so he could feel the smooth edges on his skin. Looking up, he nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Harry. You don't know what this means to me."

After the door had closed behind Draco, Harry pondered, "No, I really think I don't," before he returned to his desk. He might not understand what the innocent present of a child meant to the Malfoy heir, but maybe, in time, he would.

−−O−O−−

An hour later, after he and Lucius had finally called it a day, Harry hovered outside of the living−room. Hesitating for a while, he finally steeled himself and knocked before peeking in. He was relieved to catch the sisters splayed out on the couch in Narcissa's case, on two armchairs in Andromeda's. Slipping into the room, he lingered at the door. This moment still felt too intimate to be interrupted.

"I'll go to bed now. I just wanted to ask if Draco ought to sleep with his parents, or if you want to make yourself comfortable here, Andromeda. I'm afraid all my guest−rooms are full."

With a tired smile, Andromeda shook her head. "Please, don't rouse my nephew, on my account. I am sure Cissy and I will manage."

"Okay," Harry looked between the two women, who appeared exhausted but distinctively happier than before. "In that case … good night, I guess. Oh, if you need anything …"

"I know where to find it," the Lady Tonks assured him, rising to kiss his forehead, before guiding him out of the door. "I'm familiar with your home, Harry. Stop worrying and go to bed. Good−night, love."

Once the door snapped shut, Narcissa mumbled, amazed by how easily her sister interacted with the younger wizard who had become family by being godfather to her little nephew as much as being cousin Sirius' heir. "He has become a great man. Better than any of us could have hoped for. With his political pull, he could be anything, even Minister of Magic. Yet he works as an Auror and lives in a house that resists him at every turn."

Slipping off her shoes again, stretching out between the armchairs, Andromeda replied sadly, "And I don't think he even likes his job very much. But what part of the house is resisting him? He has lived here ever since his 17th birthday. He never told me of any troubles. He said it is the first real home he has ever had; apart from Hogwarts of course."

"Well," Narcissa started, taking a sip of the wine, Kreacher had served a while ago, together with an extensive cheese−platter and a variety of fruit. "There is this carpet in aunt Walburga's old salon …"

−−O−O−−

When Draco staggered into the kitchen around six the next morning, he found a bleary-eyed Harry, staring into his tea, while an energetic Teddy told about the wonders of his latest dream, seamlessly changing the topic to this day's activities when he noticed him entering. Though Harry had barely mumbled more than, "Yea!", "Hm …" or "Really?", encouraging his godson to continue, he wordlessly conjured another cup and gestured for Draco to help himself to some tea. It was clear that he was in no mood to make conversation. Actually, that suited Draco just fine since, despite going to bed with an elated feeling, nightmares had woken him every two to three hours. The anxiety of seeing his mother fall from the Astronomy tower instead of Dumbledore; the Dark Lord whispering praises into his ear; his father lying in a dark cell in Azkaban, soulless and cold had kept him from finding restful sleep.

Teddy nodding off over his juice, had Harry yawn, "Thank god," gently pulling his godson into his arms before the boy could slip from the chair. At the blond's inquiring gaze, he explained tiredly, "Teddy's always completely wired on the days he sleeps here. So, we get up, have a cup of tea and then take a nap before breakfast." Scrutinizing Draco for a heartbeat, he suggested, "You should join us."

Hesitant, the other wizard shook his head. "Better not," but Harry merely shifted the boy's weight and gestured. "Come on. It will be all right, I promise."

To Draco's surprise, they entered the living−room. The floor was covered in cushions and blankets already. Apparently, the two women had moved to the rug in front of the fireplace at one point during the night and had built a nest for themselves. Smiling softly, Harry whispered, "Open the window a little. I'll get the fire started."

A few spells later, a thick blanket was covering the pillow−nest, and a soft comforter lay on top of it. The fire was crackling merrily, and Harry had removed Teddy's shoes before taking off his own. Stretching out on the left side of the child, he encouraged Draco with a quiet, "Come."

Crawling over the make−shift bed, the blond helped to cover them against the early morning chill, before patting around for a free pillow. The blond did not particularly like to lie flat, yet he could not find one that was not already in use. He hesitated when Harry stretched out his arm beckoned him closer. It reminded Draco very much of last night, where he had become aware of the raven-haired's arms around him before the other wizard had screamed his head off. Lying embraced by Harry Potter seemed … awkward, like taking advantage of someone who had already done so much for him.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, his host assured him one more time, "It's okay, Draco. Stop overthinking it. Just close your eyes and go to sleep, you look like you need it." Harry wanted to do more, needed to ease the other wizard's anxiety, but since the blond had made it clear that he was not to be snuggled, this was the best he could offer.

Too exhausted to analyse the situation any longer, the blond curled around Teddy from the right and rested his head on Harry's warm limb. This was warm and comfortable and safe. Within moments Draco was fast asleep.

−−O−O−−

Three hours later they were rudely woken by the floo flaring to life. "Harry, you there?"

"For heaven's sake, Neville, stop shouting. I'm here." Harry yawned, trying to keep an enthusiastic Teddy from kneeing Draco in the stomach when climbing over him. Judging by the barely suppressed noise of pain, he was not that successful.

"Neville," the boy exclaimed, instantly wide awake. "I saw a flower yesterday. All white and pretty, like Luna's earrings."

"That's great, little man. Why don't you go back so I can step through and you can tell me all about it in person?"

"Can he?" turning around, Teddy asked, practically bouncing on his knees. "Can Neville have breakfast with us?"

Undoing all charms, putting the living−room back in order, Harry watched Draco pull the child away from the fireplace before inviting, "Come through, Neville."

The other Auror barely had time to dust off his clothes before little boy jumped him and began his tale anew. Trading a small smile, Draco and Harry started herding the duo towards the kitchen.

The Malfoys were already sitting at the table, sharing a pot of aromatic tea, while trading the newspaper. When the others entered, Narcissa got up instantly, but Harry soothed her. "It's the weekend, please allow me."

Surprisingly, Kreacher was not around to lend a helping hand, still, within half an hour, Harry served eggs with sausages, grilled tomatoes, toast, and pancakes that were drowning in syrup. Once everyone had been served a hearty meal, the young wizard inquired, "Not that I am not delighted to have you over for breakfast, but what's the matter, Neville? Is something wrong with Lostrife?"

"Everything is fine," Neville assured him. "I'm here on personal business." Looking at the Malfoys, the pureblood inquired, "Since Luna and I helped you at the Manor last week, I wanted to ask if you were amenable to return the favour?"

Usually, people of their social standing would not even think about helping others clean. Yet since they were dependant on the Auror's goodwill, Lucius and Narcissa traded a glance, before she tilted her head. "We are at your service, Mr Longbottom."

"Great," Neville beamed. "I think you might want to change into something sturdy and warm. We will spend the majority of our day outside."

Pulling on his arm, Teddy wanted to know, "Can Harry and I help too?"

"I'm counting on it." the brunet chuckled, ruffling the boy's dark strands.

Once the Malfoys and Teddy had left the kitchen to change, Harry called out, "Kreacher?"

As expected, the house−elf was by his side in an instant, "Yes, Sir?"

"Is everything alright?"

"Perfectly fine, Sir. Did Sir need anything, or did he just call on Kreacher for his personal entertainment?"

Chuckling, Harry ordered, "Tell the Malfoys' elves to bring their saddles and riding−gear to Luna's place. Then fetch mine and Teddy's from the Tonks' residence, please."

Indicating a bow, the elf plopped away.

With a sigh, Neville remarked, "He's …"

"Rude. I know," the dark−haired wizard interrupted. "But he's the Black−family's house elf, and I surely won't guillotine him for his insolence and add his head to the gruesome collection, this family seemed so fond of."

"There should be another way."

"I know," the last but not really Black−heir sighed. "But it doesn't matter now." Looking at his friend, Harry put a strong hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Neville, for doing this for them."

Brushing away the gratitude, blushing a little at the praise, the other Auror shrugged, "Your request passed my desk the moment I wanted to leave. I knew that they would either sent you a newbie or some Death−Eater−hating bigot, who got punished with weekend−duties. No matter how much you would have tried to make it a nice day, our colleague would have blocked you at every turn. I asked Luna, and she told me that the horses on her father's land would certainly enjoy a ride. Hence, I decided to twist your words a little and voilà, cleaning duties for the Malfoy family. No member of the department would find fault in that."

Shaking his head, Harry chuckled. "I owe you."

"Big time!" Neville beamed. "And you will pay your debts in full, my friend. Mostly in hot, caffeinated drinks but partially in baked goods. Luna requested a batch of your carrot−cream−cheese−muffins, and what the Lady of my heart wants, she will get."

"You could have just asked me to make some," his friend suggested, but the other wizard grinned and snatched away the last grilled tomato. "And where would be the fun in that?"

−−O−O−−

Wearing unusual threadbare trousers and boots, the Malfoy family was ready for departure. Having chosen jeans and Weasley sweaters for himself and Teddy, Harry pondered that nobody would consider his companions purebloods at first glance, though Narcissa's demeanour gave her noble heritage away. Despite the clothes, she still carried herself like a true Lady, so the raven−haired could not help but think it appropriate, when Neville bowed before her, offering his arm for the apparition. To Draco, he merely held out his hand. That left Harry with Teddy and Lucius and a somewhat embarrassing request, "Could you please hug Teddy and me?"

"Excuse me?"

Burning with mortification, the young wizard tried to avoid the former Lord's eyes. "Well, as you might have noticed, Teddy is quite excitable, and whenever we apparate, I'm afraid of him letting go." By god, could this get any worse? Trying to come up with a way to explain, Harry was surprised when Lucius stepped up to them and reached out towards his shoulder and waist. In an unexpectedly gentle gesture, the older wizard pulled the two close, "I understand. Draco was the same at that age. Narcissa and I only travelled wrapped tightly around each other. Whenever you are ready."

Safe in the unexpected embrace, Harry concentrated and spun them away.

As soon as they hit the ground, Teddy tried to wind out of their hold, but Lucius held on. "Edward?"

Surprised by being addressed, the child stilled. "Yes, Sir?"

"Did Harry tell you that you could let go?"

Looking up uncertainly, the boy shook his head.

"Apparating is a dangerous business, child. If you let go before it is safe, there is a chance of you misplacing a limb. I've heard of wizards who left their shoes behind, complete with their feet still in them."

With big, frightened eyes, Teddy wrapped his arms and legs around Harry, clinging onto him like a barnacle. For a moment, his godfather held him tight, before assuring. "You can let go now. We've landed safe and sound." Looking at the older man questioningly, the boy only relaxed when Lucius fully stepped back. "Can I go see Luna now?" Putting him down gently, Harry confirmed, "You sure can."

Once the boy was out of earshot, Draco stepped up to his father. "That's a horrible story, and entirely untrue! You told me that when I was young as well."

Raising his eyebrows, Lucius looked down at his son. "And you stopped squirming in your mother's arms. I fail to see the drawback."

Laughing, Draco accused scandalised, "I started to count my toes after every apparition!"

"And they were all there," his father stated matter−of−factly. Reaching for his wife, who placed her hand in his with a gentle smile, he turned towards Neville. "Anyway, Mr Longbottom, how may we be of service?"

−−O−O−−

With Teddy vanishing into Mr Lovegood's home and Neville showing the Malfoys around, Harry circled the house. On his second round, he found Luna perching over the front door in a knitted dress with warm leggings but bare feet. "Hello, Luna, how are you today?"

Gazing at the horizon, the young woman replied, lost in thought, "The herd has been uneasy these last few days. But I think white and black will go along quite well. I'm concerned about Teddy."

Knowing better than to dismiss Luna's casual remarks, Harry wanted to know, "Why?"

Looking towards the woods, the blonde shrugged. "I don't know yet. Stay close to him."

"I will," he promised and then turned around when he heard distant thunder.

"They're coming." Luna smiled, sliding down from the roof into Harry's arms. She joined Neville when he came around the corner.

"They're coming. They're coming!" Teddy shouted, bounding out of the house. Picking up his godson, Harry joined the others, observing the pureblood family when they first lay eyes on the horses. Their reactions did not disappoint.

"Shire horses," Narcissa whispered, watching the impressive animals thundering around the hill, approaching the Lovegood residency at full speed. Draco's hand entwined with his mother's, but even then, Harry could see his fingers trembling with excitement. He seemed to gravitate towards the giant beasts, but his father held him back. "Don't, Draco. These are wild animals, not suitable for riding."

Confused, Luna turned towards him. "Why not?"

Gesturing towards the majestic animals, Lucius explained. "An experienced rider like myself can see that they are not broken in."

With a content smile, Luna nodded to herself. "Of course, they are not broken in. But that does not mean that they won't tolerate a rider. I've ridden them since I was four." And then, she let go of Neville and approached the oncoming herd.

Narcissa's distress was eased by Neville, who gently patted her arm. "Don't worry, she does that every time they come. They are her friends."

And, as expected, the horses slowed and started to circle Luna, nipping on her hair, her dress, her fingers, until she fed them the sugar cubes she carried aplenty. After a minute, she held out her hand. "Come on, Teddy, join me."

Looking at Harry for confirmation, the boy slipped between the horses, not showing an ounce of fear. Narcissa was next to be called forward, then Draco, Lucius and finally Harry and Neville. Luna took her time, introducing each new person to the entire herd, only calling for the next, when a few horses gathered around the one by her side. There were only about two dozen horses, and the girl explained that the herd rarely got bigger than that. "There are doxies, living with them in the forest nearby. They go to them for warmth and ward off any danger. Sometimes, when there is too much new blood, a few of the older horses go and live with the farmers for a few seasons."

Amazed, Draco asked, "You mean they domesticate themselves?"

Shrugging Luna replied, "It's a good arrangement. They help and receive food and shelter in exchange. The farmers around here cherish them. They think they are magic."

Chuckling, Teddy commented, "Stupid muggles."

Caressing the boy's head, Luna looked around. "I think we can start now. Come along then. Their hooves and manes need to be cleaned, and afterwards, we will see if some of them want to carry you."

Surprised the former Lord clarified, "You were serious before. You think we can actually ride them?"

"You want to," she stated easily, looking up at the man who, once upon a time had captured and tormented her.

Looking at the horses longingly, Lucius whispered, "Very much so."

"Then I hope one wants to carry you. It is their decision after all."

Her forgiving nature had always been one of Luna's most outstanding qualities. Briefly reaching for her hand, Harry squeezed it, smiling at his friend gratefully.

−−O−O−−

A few hours of cleaning hooves and brushing manes, Xenophilius offered a hearty albeit late, lunch. Since the cylindric house did not provide enough room for so many guests, Harry and Luna charmed a sturdy carpet into a several square−feet cover for the ground and threw in all the pillows they could find. Though lunch contained stew and freshly baked bread on the floor, Narcissa, ever the lady, took off her boots before stepping onto the fabric. She took a bowl and a piece of bread with a charming smile. "It is very gracious of you to invite us to eat with you, Mister Lovegood. It smells delicious."

For a moment, Harry felt himself bristle since − in his experience − no pureblood would mean such courtesy when sharing a meal with an oddball like Xenophilius Lovegood. Yet one look at Narcissa's face told him that she was utterly sincere. It seemed that hunger and isolation could teach even a noble pureblood humility and though Harry was ashamed for thinking that, he felt the Lady Malfoy was better off for it.

Lucius and Draco followed her example gracefully, so they had an entertaining lunch with the Lovegoods talking about the next edition of the Quibbler and Teddy interrupting now and then with curious questions. After a nice cup of tea and a short nap in the afternoon−sun, the cleaning supplies were stored away, and Luna announced that now they could talk to the horses to find out which ones were ready to carry them.

Ten minutes later, the blond girl found a dejected Lucius Malfoy at the edge of the herd. "I don't think that I will be riding today," he shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "The leader of the herd won't let me near any of his horses."

"Of course not," she smiled, petting the huge horse that nuzzled her shoulder affectionately. "You are the patriarch of a noble and ancient house. It would hardly be suitable for you to ride anyone but him."

"Him?" The former Lord's eyes went wide as he looked at the impressive beast. Slowly he reached out to pet its neck.

Serenely, Luna strolled over to where Narcissa was surrounded by three mares. "Can't you decide which one to take?"

Smiling, the Lady shook her head. "They are all so lovely."

Offering more treats, the young woman gestured towards a black horse that was nibbling on the grass at the edge of the herd. "What about her?"

Admiring the black beauty, Narcissa admitted, "She allowed me to care for her, but has not approached me since."

"Well," Luna gestured towards Lucius, who was currently putting a bridle on the leader of the herd. "She carried all of Primus’ offspring. A lady like her does not curry favours." Offering the bridle, Narcissa's elves had brought over, she smiled brightly when the Lady took the offer and stepped up to the horse. After but a brief moment, the animal bent its head.

Draco, who had just fastened his saddle on a beautiful, cream−coloured beast gasped when he watched his mother mounting her mare. Her motion was as elegant as if she had just stepped onto the dancefloor of the Manor. What shocked him, however, was her forgoing a saddle. "Mother!" He exclaimed scandalised. "How can you … you said that a noble should never ride a horse without the proper attire!"

Steering her mare a little closer to her son, Narcissa tilted her head in confirmation. "You are right, but I am sure you will recall me telling you, that you can't expect any animal to carry you if you are not able to ride it skilfully."

"Don't forget who taught you that, my Lady." Lucius smiled before pulling himself onto his own horse. Watching his strong and sure movements, nobody would have believed this man to have left Azkaban a mere week ago. Guiding his stallion closer, he reached for his wife's hand and indicated a kiss, chuckling when Narcissa replied, "While that might be true, my dear, don't forget who outdistanced you every ride we took."

"Well, we'll see who will win today." Her husband challenged, before egging his horse on. The Lady was behind him in a heartbeat, leaving her confused son behind.

"What happened just now?"

Rolling his eyes, Neville mounted his own, chestnut−coloured horse. "I better follow them. If anybody spots them without a ministry entourage, they could get into trouble."

Rounding the house, on horseback already, Lune had not only forgone saddle, but bridle as well, and not even bothered to put on shoes. Smiling, she calmed her partner. "Don't worry they will stop at the lake."

"Great. See you there, Harry."

Once Luna and Neville were gone as well, Draco looked at Harry, who was just putting on Teddy's helmet, the boy had tried to go around, before adjusting his saddle once again. Helpfully the child explained. "I think your mum and dad are having fun."

Looking after them with a thoughtful expression, the blond pondered, "I guess so …"

After the boy's saddle had been secured, Harry put a comforting hand on Draco's arm. "Don't worry. I think, today is the first day in over thirty years they can just enjoy without having to worry about Dark Lords or social standing or getting enough food on the table. Let them. Luna and Neville won't let anything bad happen."

"I've never seen them this … playful."

Mounting his own horse, a flecked mare that had taken a liking to him, the raven−haired shrugged. "I assume they have never been that way since before you were born. Decisions have consequences, and I think your father will see that entering the Ritual of Compulsory Surrender with me was the smartest one he has made in quite a while."

"And why is that?"

Stirring their horses slowly away from the Lovegood residency, keeping an eye on Teddy, Harry took his time with the answer. In the end, he admitted. "Because I just want him to be okay; not in a position of power to further my own agenda; not him cowering at my feet because I have to prove myself superior; just okay and preferably a productive member of society. You and your mum as well, of course."

Snorting, Draco shook his head. "You can't really believe that, Potter. Nobody is that altruistic."

Turning his head so they could look at each other, the blond noticed for the first time the deep weariness and fatigue that seemed edged into the other wizard's very being. Usually, Harry masked his emotions behind easy smiles and witty comments, but for this, brief moment he allowed Draco a glimpse into his very soul. "It's not altruism, Malfoy. I'm just tired of fighting all the time. Tom is dead. I killed him myself. But even five years later our world still suffers the consequences of his actions, and I want this to end. Even if I must work on it one family at a time. Over the years I hope that one can become many and that in the end, Britain is safe again."

When Teddy interrupted their conversation, announcing he was going to jump over a boulder, Harry's mask was firmly back in place. After the successful jump and the proper congratulations, Draco turned towards his former nemesis again, tilting his head humbly. "Thank you, for starting with mine."

With an honest smile, Harry replied, "You are welcome, but it was you who made it possible in the first place. Had you not chosen to swallow your pride and ask for my help, your father would be dead. So, in the end, you could say that you saved yourself."

Tilting his head, Draco bemused, "I'm a man now. It was time that I started making the right decisions."

−−O−O−−

The Lovegoods, as well as Neville, joined them for dinner at Malfoy Manor as per Narcissa's insistence. She, Luna and Harry had prepared the meal while the others had shared a calming cup of tea on the terrace. Lucius and Draco had let the conversation wash over them, where Neville had explained the perfect spots for vegetable patches, orchards or decorative greenery while Mister Lovegood had been amazed by the imaginary creatures he believed to inhabit the extensive grounds.

It was nearly midnight when Draco, Harry and a sleeping Teddy returned to Grimmauld Place. Still, after putting his godson to bed, Harry enjoyed a few minutes of sharing the excitement of the day with his live−in−patient. It had been strenuous, but happy nonetheless.

−−O−O−−

The next day, Kreacher served a muscle relaxant with breakfast. Harry and Draco downed it instantly, sighing when their strained limbs started to relax. Since it was the third Sunday of the month, Harry put Teddy into another bath and then prepared him for lunch with the family. As always, the boy was excited to meet the Weasleys and especially Victoire, Bill and Fleur's daughter. The girl was a mirror image of her mother, with her hair being the only exception. No matter the light, it always looked like the red rays of a dying sun on a summer's day, vibrant and with a life of its own. Teddy had fallen for her the moment they had met, and it was agreed upon that they would marry when they were grown up; at least between the kids. As always, the boy had brought a gift for Victoire as well. The clear crystal looked incredibly delicate on its silver chain, and Teddy twisted it between his fingers anxiously, since, "Are you sure she will like it? What if she doesn't like the colour? What if she thinks it's too small. What if …?"

"Teddy," Harry smiled, reaching for his godson's hands, brushing a coppery strand of hair out of his face. "She will love it, and you know that. Whatever you have chosen in the past, Vici has loved it. Now stop worrying and go find your cap."

Leaning against the staircase, Draco chuckled. "Is he always like this?"

"Whenever he meets her. He is completely besotted with the girl."

"What about her?"

Chuckling, the raven−haired shared, "She worships the ground he walks on. Honestly, he could pick up a pebble, wind a string around it and she would wear it proudly. To Victoire, Teddy's metamorphous abilities make him the most impressive wizard she knows, and she won't let him slip through her fingers. As soon as she learned how to write, she set up a bethronal agreement."

"And he signed it?"

"With crayons," Harry grinned. "They were four and six at the time. He was quite proud of being able to spell his own name."

When the boy in question thundered down the stairs, his godfather swept him up and, after bidding Draco goodbye, they flooed to the Burrow.

−−O−O−−

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's steadily softening speech was harshly interrupted, by Harry setting down his cup with unnecessary force. Icily, he glared at his opposite. "This witch is one of the few people I trust. Not with my life but with something infinitely more valuable. If you ever come across her again, you will politely step out of her way. In the unlikely case that she asks you for something, you will provide it and you will never ever interfere with her again. Have I made myself clear?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irritated by Hermione's explanation and the heroics of a former, convicted(!) Death Eater, Head Auror Robarts growled, "Give me that!" When he reached for the cane, he barely made contact before flinching back, letting it fall to the floor. His hand was covered in blisters as if he had reached into a fire for several seconds. "Bloody hell, Malfoy!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the way Lucius is allowed to redeem himself is a source of conflict for many of you readers. My original Summary of the story indicated Harry to be a lot more vicious and vindictive than I am portraying him. However, Sententia is about making choices, choices of letting go of the past, choices of working towards a better, brighter future where you are not weighted down by hatred and vengeance, basically it is everything Voldemort was not. For those of you who are waiting for the 'other shoe to drop' on the Malfoys, better stop reading because while there will be conflict in this story, they won't return to Azkaban or 'get what they deserve'. I wanted to make things better and not let prejudice and anger stand in the way.  
> To all of you who continue reading, I hope you will have a lot of fun :).  
> Anchanee

The following week consisted mostly of Harry commuting between the Ministry, the Manor and either very early or very late, Grimmauld Place. As soon as the young Auror had returned to work, he and Neville had gotten tied up in a new case. Some crazy wizards were conducting blood−sacrifices of muggle virgins as if they were still in the dark ages. The Auror Department was stretched thin between securing the crime−scenes and obliviating the local population and muggle authorities. Harry chugged down a swift cup of coffee in the mornings, flooed to the Manor − thank god, the imbeciles of Magical Law Enforcement had finally connected the two houses − went over any new developments concerning Lostrife with Mr Malfoy before rushing to work.

On Thursday, Lucius had requested to see his 'client' again, but having been called into the field, Harry had simply not been able to make that happen. He had seen the frustration in the former Lord's eyes, but the man had simply tilted his head in deference and withdrawn his request. At first, Harry had considered this gesture either a calculated effort, showing oneself compliant to get one's way or a quite childish bout of passive resistance. However, when the pureblood had returned to their earlier topic, the young man had realised that Lucius had never honestly thought his request to be granted. Yes, he needed to talk to Lostrife but was well aware of his liege's packed schedule. Still, Malfoy had put his request on the table, despite knowing that he would be denied.

Once at the ministry, Harry had sent a message to Hermione. Friday morning after breakfast, she and a baby−Auror had knocked at the Manor, ready to escort Lucius to the Ministry. Though Narcissa had offered tea, Harry had barely had time to bid them goodbye. Still, before he had left, he took a moment to hug his best friend. "Thank you, Hermione. I don't know what I would do without you."

"You would manage. You always do." The young witch assured him with a smile and held on tight for a moment before ushering him out of the door. "Now go, Neville is certainly already bouncing on his toes."

Learning of another lead, once he entered their office, Harry could not help but smile. Things were not perfect, but with the Malfoys at home and his friends here at work, all working towards a common goal, his life finally seemed to take a turn for the better.

That, of course, was when it all went to hell.

−−O−O−−

Neville and Harry's workday held one empty lead after the other until the sun was going down. Both were cranky, tired and hungry and more than ready to call it a day. A message from headquarters with another clue stopped their dinner run. With a sigh, they settled for fish and chips and then apparated to a small nest west of Ipswich. There they tailed a group of wizards, finding their first, real lead. Once their potential suspects had returned to their respective homes, the Aurors reported in at headquarters and called upon their colleagues to continue their surveillance during the day. Then they flooed home to finally get some rest.

When Harry staggered into his kitchen around six in the morning, he found Draco starring at a cup of tea, toying with the toast on his plate rather than eating it. The blond looked about as bad as Harry felt, though after the day slash night the Auror had had, he simply could not muster the energy to ask about it. With a bare grunt, he thanked Kreacher for the cup of herbal tea Luna insisted he drank at times like these when Draco finally mustered the courage to speak.

"Harry, there is this witch who comes in every day and goes up to the third floor."

The raven turned his head and gave the other an inquiring look. "I'm aware." Nobody was allowed to mess with the medi-witch that hat taken over his patient's care. Nobody!

Rubbing his hands on his trousers, the blond continued, "I tried to ask her what she was doing … told her you do not wanting anybody up there. But she merely stepped around me and went upstairs. I tried to follow, but …"

Draco's steadily softening speech was harshly interrupted when Harry set down his cup with unnecessary force. Icily, he glared at his opponent. "This witch is one of the few people I trust. Not with my life but with something infinitely more precious. If you come across her again, you will politely step out of her way. In the unlikely case that she asks something of you, you will provide the item in question, and you will never **ever** interfere with her duties. Have I made myself clear?"

The young man's increasingly heated speech was met by a meek, "Yes, Sir."

After a moment, where Draco had merely stared at his plate, hiding his trembling fingers under the table, he added in a mere whisper, "I am sorry, my Lord. I did not mean to anger you."

Closing his eyes, because scaring Draco had not been on his agenda today, Harry shook his head. He was too exhausted to deal with this right now. Therefore, he merely replied softly, "It's alright, Draco." Rising, he put a gentle hand on the blond's shoulder, ignoring the flinch the young man so valiantly tried to hide. "I will go to bed now. Just return to the library and stay out of the way."

He was well aware of the mindset Draco was in at the moment. Yet despite his desire to prove himself to not be like Tom, when given power over someone's life, he could not help but issue incomprehensible orders, expecting them to be carried out without question. Still, at the moment, he felt not able to explain his behaviour to Draco. Harry's head felt like a beehive where the information he and Neville had gathered tonight was buzzing around, while the fatigue pressed onto him from all sides. All he felt capable of at the moment, was make his way up the three flights of stairs into his room and sleep for a few hours before confronting Draco's fears. Maybe tomorrow they could talk, or the day after. It was not as if the blond was in any danger. If he went on his way, as usual, nothing would happen.

When Harry dragged himself into the kitchen seven hours later, he heard from Kreacher that 'Master Draco' had not left the library today, but that he had consumed the lunch the elf had served. Kreacher had also served a meal to the Medi−witch, Harry had called on short notice. Despite the surveillance charms he had woven over his live−in−patient, he never felt particularly comfortable leaving him alone for an extended amount of time. Him being out in the field would have meant exactly that, and Harry was grateful that the woman was always available when he needed her.

Despite having slept sufficiency, he still felt irritated when he heard Kreacher addressing Draco as 'Master', but the elf had proved his loyalty, so Harry decided not to spend any useless thoughts on that topic. He would return his attention to the problems with his inheritance and everything that came with it, when the muggle virgins were safe from the demented wizards of Ipswich. With that thought predominate in his mind, the young Auror returned to work.

−−O−O−−

Exhaustion was eating at him, making the titles of the books swim before his eyes. These past few days, Draco had always allowed himself a short nap after lunch, since his nights seemed to become less restful as time went on. Yet, after the confrontation in the kitchen, he had no desire to be found slacking. Of course, he knew that Harry was nothing like You−Know−Who. That, no matter how much he displeased his new master, he would never use the Cruciatus on him or hurt his family. Still, the moment the raven−haired has made his displeasure with Draco's actions clear, he had felt transported back to the long table in their dining−room, barely daring to breathe, afraid of drawing attention to himself. Then Harry had touched him, and for a heartbeat, the blond had felt Voldemort's fingers dig into his flesh. But then the other wizard's words had not only been exhausted but downright gentle, conveying his emotions in a way that would have been impossible with Voldemort.

Still, the blond stayed on alert until he heard the Auror go down to the kitchen and leave for work. For another thirty minutes, Draco worked diligently before exhaustion took over. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was passed out on his desk.

−−O−O−−

For the first time in six days, Harry was home in time for dinner. It might be Saturday, and one could argue that he should have been home anyway. But that did not bother the young Auror particularly. As far as he was concerned, his position had never been a nine−to−five job. Some days, he and Neville held elaborate discussions about the current style of dress−robes or the advantages of one fertiliser over the other. In short, they idled their days away with a minimum of paperwork and a maximum of relaxation. And then there were weeks like this, where weekends meant nothing, and sundown merely reminded them to cast Lumos.

Since this was not a 'Teddy weekend', Harry did not really care, that he had been tied up at the office until now. Still, he enjoyed coming home to sizzling pans and bubbling pots that gave off the most delicious smells. Smiling brightly, he inquired, "Smells brilliant, Kreacher. What are we having?"

"Coq Au Vin with glazed Pomme de Terre and a glass of Pinot Noir, 1995 if it pleases."

Revising the information, Harry beamed after a moment. "That's the chicken in wine−sauce with the little potatoes. I love that!"

Not even bothering to hide his revulsion at the uncultured comment, the elf sneered. "Indeed, Sir, the chicken with potatoes. Would it please, Sir, to fetch Master Draco for dinner? I'm afraid he will sleep through it otherwise."

Snickering, because no, Harry would never be part of the higher culture that thought about meals in fancy French terms, still he knocked on Draco's bedroom because the blond surely would. When no answer came, he peeked in, before turning towards the library. Sighing he hoped that his new room−mate slash servant would at least have used the couch for his nap, despite having little hope for it.

As expected, he found Draco hunched over the desk, drooling onto the booklist he was composing. With a small gesture, Harry spelled away the wetness, so the words were pristine again, gently touching the blond. When Draco instinctively leaned into the touch, like a cat asking to be petted, Harry brushed over his cheek with the back of his fingers.

Everything was soft and warm and tender when Draco slowly woke. Moving a little, he absent−minded noticed something sticking to his cheek, but since the comfortable touch continued, he did not want to overthink it.

His breath paused when reality caught up with him. He tried to move back gracefully, but Potter's eyes told him that he had noticed him tensing. It was not as if the other man did not have the right to touch him. By Merlin, Draco had offered him that privilege and more in exchange for the mere attempt of saving his father from the Dementor's Kiss. He had even defended that right when Lucius had stormed his room. Still, Potter taking these liberties made Draco uneasy, despite knowing how useless that emotion was.

"Dinner is ready."

Looking at the work he had spread out over the desktop, Draco pondered quietly, "Maybe I should continue. I did not mean to fall asleep."

Harry sighed because the blond's bad conscience was palpable and after what had happened in the morning, he knew he ought to take his time for this. So, the Auror stepped back and leaned against the desk, folding his arms so he would not be tempted to pet Draco again. He was relieved to notice the blond relaxing at the gesture. "Listen, I get this whole 'servant'−position you put yourself in. It's infinitely better than being locked up at the Manor, starving. But let's be honest, you merely had a choice between a rock and a hard place."

"I did not come here to get out of the Manor," Malfoy snapped. "I just had nothing else to offer."

Softly, Harry contradicted him, "Yes, you did. Maybe it was done subconsciously, but you could have offered your services, without offering yourself."

Shoving back from the desk, Draco shot to his feet and spat angrily. "If you don't want me to be … stay here, just say so! I might as well leave!"

"Stop being so Slytherin, with your accusations and your wounded pride!" The Gryffindor exploded. It was entirely possible that he was not as calm as he had thought. But Malfoy always could push his buttons like nobody else. Looking back, the two of them had always enjoyed their little squabbles. Still, seeing the other wizard curl into himself instinctively, reminded Harry that they were not on equal footing any longer. Wrestling back his temper, he continued in a more reasonable tone. "Listen, Draco, I want you here. But not as a slave or a boy−toy or a punching bag. You made a request and offered payment. I fulfilled the request and accepted the payment," albeit not magically binding, "because I thought you would be better off here than in a house where Tom tortured and killed people. You did your fair share of evil in school. Mostly because you had no choice, but partially because you were a spoiled brat."

When the blond opened his mouth to protest, Harry merely raised his eyebrows, watching him deflate. Some things were just true, no matter the angle you looked at them. "My point is when you finally had a choice you made the right one. That's why I helped you. However, I did not intend for Grimmauld Place to become yet another prison. You were incredibly smart at school, so I assumed you would enjoy working in the library. Sirius' family has collected some pretty impressive books over the years. At least a few should be of interest to you."

Incredulously, Draco gapped. "You expected me to read these?"

"Of course. Why would I invite you in here otherwise?"

"Potter!" Massaging his temples against an upcoming headache, the blond explained somewhat strained. "The Blacks have been a dark family for centuries. In here you will find more books on dark magic than even in the Malfoy library."

"Yes?"

"And you simply thought it a clever idea, to let a former Death Eater get his hands on them?"

"Yes."

"Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea how much destruction one of your enemies could cause with the knowledge in these volumes?" Pacing the length of the shelves, Draco pointed at tomes randomly. "Potions for mind magic, Rituals that use blood magic and oh, look here, a detailed analogy of curses members of the Black family have performed through the ages. Not a retelling of the circumstances but the actual, bloody curses! I am of Black blood, Potter. Do you have even the slightest clue of how much damage I could do with this? Even without a wand."

Calm Harry watched the agitated young wizard, fighting hard to hide a smirk. "You are right, of course. But then again, I don't think you are any more."

"Am what?"

"My enemy."

Looking at each other over the length of the room, the Auror moved away from the desk and approached the self−proclaimed former Death Eater. Ever so gently, as if the blond was a frightened kitten, he put a hand on his arm. Quietly, he asked, "Or am I wrong, Draco, and despite everything, you are still plotting my demise?"

"No," the young man whispered, head drooping in defeat.

"Power corrupts," Harry told. "And absolute power …"

"… corrupts absolutely. I know. I've seen it."

Gently tilting Draco's head so he could meet the blond's eyes, the raven−haired confirmed. "And that's why I trust you to judge for yourself what knowledge in here is suitable to have and what isn't. Out of all of my friends, I trust you to withstand the allure of power to easiest, because you have suffered the most from it."

Swallowing at the implication that somehow, they were friends, Draco shook his head. "I still think it's reckless of you to let me read these books."

Chuckling, Harry replied, "So don't. I said you could, not that you had to. You read one on family magic already. Just tell me which ones you are interested in, and we will decide together."

"This one," Draco pointed at a rather heavy volume instantly.

Claiming the book, Harry found it to be a work on experimental potions. Looking up surprised, Draco merely shrugged, "I like potions. The youngest Potion's Master in Britain was my godfather after all."

Fortunately, he did not notice the trembling of Harry's fingers when he handed the book over, recalling, "Severus Snape was your godfather …"

"Yes," Draco replied, putting the volume on the table so he could leaf through it. "I wanted to become a Master like him. I never had a liking for politics like father. But these days …" he shrugged dejectedly. "Who would take a Death Eater as an apprentice?"

'Another Death Eater', Harry imagined. Then he shook his head and went back to the reason he had come up in the first place. "But now we should go down, or the chicken in wine−sauce will overcook."

Perking up, the blond beamed, "Kreacher made Coq Au Vin?"

"Yes, with potatoes."

"Pomme de Terre," the pureblood corrected him, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, sometimes you act like you were raised in a barn."

"It was Surrey, thank you very much." Harry squabbled. "But I was never expected to cook fancy French meals. Lucky me, the Dursleys were content with chicken and potatoes." After a heartbeat, he realised that he had revealed too much with this simple sentence, but when he looked up, Draco merely met his eyes and got up from the sofa. "Let's get down and enjoy French cuisine then. Kreacher is an excellent cook."

With a small, relieved smile, Harry followed. Maybe they really had a chance to become friends, provided they were given enough time.

−−O−O−−

The same evening, Harry took the opportunity to write to Headmistress McGonagall. There were Potion Masters in Britain, of course, there were. One of them was even working for the Ministry. But somehow, Harry doubted that it would be a smart idea to trust any of them with this secret. Draco, however … if he had Snape's journals, might be able to learn. And if − by any chance − he became good enough, there was the tiniest chance that he could find the potion they needed.

Ron was helping, as was George. In their sparse free time they were cooking up variations of known antidotes. George had been brilliant at potions, and Ron had become rather good at it too since the majority of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' products were cooked up one way or the other. Hermione was a downright genius and could master any subject she put her mind to … usually. But potions were different. To brew you needed more than knowledge, you needed the heart to become a true master. For Severus Snape, potions had been his entire existence, his knowledge and understanding more in-depth than anything Harry could ever hope to achieve. Neither of the four had a chance to succeed in this, but Draco … maybe he could do it.

Nobody but Hermione, Ron, Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey and Harry knew that Severus Snape was still alive. Poppy had pulled him back to the brink of death. With the Headmistress, the golden trio had performed a ritual to put him in the coma that was supposed to give them time to come up with an antidote. Their biggest drawback, until now, had been their inability to isolate the poison. Of course, it ran through their patient's veins, but every attempt to separate it from the blood had caused a rather violent reaction.

Snape was safe for now, Poppy's second cousin, a brilliant nurse, who had specialised in coma patients, took outstanding care of him. Still, there was no improvement either, and slowly they were all losing hope. Draco was their first real chance. Maybe he had the heart to save his godfather.

Two days later, Harry received an invitation to the annual Halloween Feast at Hogwarts, along with his friends.

−−O−O−−

Working diligently on the sacrifice−case, Harry nearly forgot about the hearing of Lostrife until Lucius reminded him three days prior. They had set up regular meetings with Malfoy's charge and his correspondent in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As a defender, the former Lord never learned what part of the information he gathered was relayed to the public attorney. But according to the brief conversations during lunch Harry and Hermione shared twice a week, everything was going as expected.

Secretly, Harry hoped that his best friend would wipe the floor with his vassal's defence, with Lucius admitting defeat gracefully. Because then he might have a chance to convince his superiors that the former Death Eater could be a valuable asset to their legal team, even as an unrelated consultant.

Therefore, the raven-haired Auror shifted his assignments to attend the Wizengamot session personally, not intending to allow anybody to give his thrall any grief over what he was doing. Neville had promised to find someone to have his back, in case of emergencies and Head Auror Robarts had sworn to assign him only paperwork today.

The morning of the trial, Harry was a little tired, due to an all−nighter he had pulled, yet in high spirits, looking forward to the trial of a lifetime.

−−O−O−−

The patriarch of the most noble and ancient house of Malfoy had decided that he was not nervous, on the morning of the hearing. As his father had taught him at a very young age, such emotions were unbecoming for a Lord, even a former one. So, he merely tilted his head respectfully when his liege joined him and Narcissa for breakfast and forced himself to enjoy the egg his wife had prepared for him. The only sign of his not−entire−calm demeanour was his hands repeatedly straightening the slightly threadbare seam of his robes. For the last few years, no member of his family had spared any concern for their wardrobe. So even the most elaborate dress−robe he owned, was about ten years out of date.

That someone started knocking on their door shortly after breakfast, was undoubtedly out of the ordinary. Especially with Narcissa still being under house−arrest and him being here and at Grimmauld Place in equal likelihood. His master merely gazed at him, "There is someone at the door," should have clued him in that something was going on.

'Someone' turned out to be a delivery−boy from 'Nott Fashion and Design'. Not that Lucius had ever heard of the company. When he returned to the kitchen with a big package, his liege merely encouraged, "You should go upstairs and open it. We have to leave in twenty."

The pureblood had not seen Harry smiling at Narcissa, gesturing for her to follow. What he noticed was her catching her breath when he shook out the high−collared robe that had been delivered. The material was unbelievably soft and fell perfectly over his frame. The colour was such a deep green it appeared black with dark onyx buttons that reflected the light in a multitude of hues. Scrutinizing himself in the mirror, noticed that it really brought out his eyes and accentuated his white hair.

He had lost both weight and muscle mass in Azkaban, but the cut of this garment glossed over his shortcomings. It also enhanced his natural height, making him appear regal and strong. After Narcissa had straightened the last of the buttons, she looked up at him with admiration. "You look every inch the pureblood you are. Harry will be very proud of you."

"I won't disappoint him today," Lucius swore. "We can't afford to waste this chance."

"You won't," His wife assured him, kissing him for luck. "You have researched this case meticulously and know that your client is guilty as sin. Nobody will let him walk free. Not with the abundance of evidence you have helped them gather."

Downstairs Harry had taken in Lucius’ attire with a barely-there smile and a satisfied tilt of his head before he offered one last accessory. The walking stick was made of black high−polished wood with a silver snake on top. But that was where the similarities to Lucius' old cane ended. The wood was so dark it seemed to swallow the light, and it morphed seamlessly into the metal of the head so that nobody could say where the cane ended, and the head began. The most impressive part, however, was the aforementioned head. Had Lucius former walking stick been topped off by a serpent, similar to the one in the Slytherin crest, his master had chosen a basilisk for this one. When Lucius caressed it reverently, both the metal and the wood felt as if they had their own heartbeat lying warm in his hand.

"I can't give you a wand, not yet anyway. But I can make sure you are protected."

Lucius had taken in the beauty of the artefact before bowing low to his liege. "Thank you, my … Harry. I will prove myself worthy of this magnificent gift."

"I know you will," the young Auror smiled, before flooing them to the ministry.

So, no, Lucius Malfoy was not nervous when entering the courtroom. He would act in accordance to the expectations placed upon him and, without a doubt, make his master proud so that the entire Ministry would see that Harry Potter's faith in him had not been misplaced.

−−O−O−−

Lucius was doing an admirable job defending his client while Hermione Granger picked apart his alibi bit by bit. Nothing was safe from the muggleborn witch as she presented footage from muggle security cameras from all over London, along with eyewitness accounts who had spotted Lostrife when he had gone about his illegal business. All in all, the evidence was damning, and there was no doubt in Harry's mind that they would be able to lock the bastard away for good. Incidentally, he was so concentrated about his friend and thrall, that he did not notice his superior slipping into the courtroom. His wand was already in his hand when Robarts startled him, "Potter, we need you."

"But …," the young Auror contradicted helplessly, gesturing towards his vassal. Still, he knew that the Head Auror would not have come, were it not important. Drooping, he mumbled, "What about Malfoy?"

"I'll have his back," Robarts promised. "Go, they need you."

Nodding resigned, Harry gave the court one last look before slipping out. Neville was already waiting for him with his robes and armour. Wearing armour at work was the one thing Harry had insisted upon after his promotion to full Auror status. He had been on the run for more than a year, and apart from all the other lessons that year had taught him, he had learned that in the end, all assignments got pear−shaped at one point.

−−O−O−−

He lost. Never before had Lucius Malfoy been so happy to sit on the losing side. Hermione Granger had torn his well thought out defence to pieces rather spectacularly. So, the pureblood could not help but bow to her, once the verdict was announced. His client, however, did not seem willing to accept the court's decision as graciously.

He spat fire and brimstone, especially at Miss Granger. But since he did not have a wand, everybody simply ignored him in favour of collecting papers and preparing for departure. Lucius was currently looking for his liege, who surprisingly seemed to be absent when the situation got out of hand. Having struggled with the two wizards who had apprehended him after the trial, Lostrife managed to wrestle one of their wands away, pointing it at the muggleborn witch who had ensured his conviction.

Later, the pureblood could not say why he acted the way he did since it should have gone against his every instinct. Of course, Miss Granger had won his respect, both with her brilliant mind and her willingness to forgive his past errors and work together, however indirectly. Yet it came entirely unexpected that Lucius would trade places, to protect her from an oncoming spell. Also, it was a foolish thing to do, his mind supplied when he heard the incantation of the killing curse. He did not have a wand, no way to defend himself. To raise his cane, in a stupid attempt to shield himself, through wood and metal, proved the right thing to do. Before the poisonous green light could make contact, the Basilisk hissed maliciously, and his former dull eyes began to glow a blazing white. The forming shield absorbed the power of the deadly curse, and for a heartbeat, the basilisk's eyes shone green before they turned white again.

Stunned by the unexpected protection, Lucius did not struggle when Hermione turned them again and shouted, " **Expelliarmus!** "

The wand flew out of Lostrife's hand and bounced off their shield. Auror Robarts was beside them in an instant, stupefying the convicted Death Eater before turning towards Malfoy with burning eyes. "When did you get a new wand?" He reached out to take the cane but was repelled by the shield.

"I did not." Lucius replied coldly. Being attacked, both verbally and physically, made him revert to the arrogant demeanour he had used as a shield all his life. As lost as the Auror about what had happened, the former Lord tried to appear as cold and detached as possible. He had just saved a muggleborn. Did that count for nothing? "This cane was gifted to me by my master. I do not know what kind of magic it possesses."

"It's parselmagic." Hermione shared calmly. "Harry made it for Lucius specifically, because he was afraid something like this would happen."

"And you know that how, Mrs Weasley?" The Auror wanted to know, before snapping at the former Death Eater. "Turn off that bloody shield, Lostrife is gone, and I certainly won't attack you in the middle of the Wizengamot!"

The former Lord would have loved to point out that that did not make him feel particularly safe and was reluctant to admit that he had no clue of how to end the spell.

Stepping around him, Granger seemed a little uneasy on her feet, no wonder after having a killing curse aimed at her. So Lucius reached out to stabilise her. He hid his smile when she mumbled, "Tap it to the floor." The moment he did, the simmering bubble around them was sucked back into the Basilisk's fanged mouth, before its eyes dulled to a metal grey again.

Slightly appeased, Robarts still looked at Hermione expectant, until she shrugged. "Because I own something similar. All of Harry's friends do. After returning from his travels, he felt the need to protect us. We dug up some old tomes on parselmagic and created a few artefacts. It wasn't that complicated since Harry had learned the basics in South America."

Both men gapped at her when she explained the creation of not one, but several powerful artefacts as nothing more complicated than learning a new charm. She smiled at Lucius, once she was finished and added, "Anyway, thank you for saving my life."

"From what you just told us, Miss Granger, it was entirely unnecessary." The former Lord replied.

Tilting her head, Hermione all but grinned. "You did not know that."

Obviously irritated, both by Hermione's explanation and the heroics of a former, convicted Death Eater, Robarts growled, "Give me that!" When he reached for the cane, he barely made contact before he flinched back, letting it fall to the floor. His hand was covered in blisters as if he had reached into fire for several seconds. "Bloody hell, Malfoy!"

With a mild sigh, Hermione shook her head. "What part of 'Harry made it for Mr Malfoy.' did you not understand, Sir? What good would protection do that could be taken away at a moment's notice?"

"Bloody Potter," the man growled, reluctantly allowing her to heal him. "Get him out of here! Potter is on an assignment, and it's clear that Malfoy hardly needs protection."

"It seems that I have to impose on you, Miss Granger. If you show me your office, I will give you my word to stay out of your way."

Chuckling, Hermione took the former Lord's offered arm. "On the contrary, I expect you to very much participate in our next activity."

Following her guidance through the depths of the ministry, the pureblood was surprised when they entered a cafeteria of sorts, that seemed filled with dozens of witches and wizards. He gathered that this was a celebration of the conviction for yet another Death Eater since everybody was congratulating the witch by his side, offering sparkling wine for a toast.

When the head of the division started his speech, the vassal tried to edge towards the back of the crowd. While everybody seemed joyous and carefree, he doubted that they wanted to see a former follower of the Dark Lord in their midst. The persistent Miss Granger, however, seemed determined to thwart his attempts and he only understood why, when the Head Barrister came to the end of his speech. "… and all of this would not have been possible without the unexpected help of one person. A person who has worked on unearthing the true motives of Augustus Lostrife. Without your help, we would have continued to flounder in the dark, despite having our best witches and wizards on the case. Rest assured that we will be ready to work with you again, despite your current … limitations. So, thank you Mister Malfoy. Your support has been invaluable."

"To Malfoy." Was the general chorus that followed that speech and at first, the pureblood felt overwhelmed by the acknowledgement and acceptance of these people, who really ought to have only have heard the worst of him so far. That he lacked displaying the expected reaction became obvious, when the bushy−haired witch at his side nudged him and instructed, "Toast them and drink."

Mechanically he followed the command, plastering a smile to his face when other people approached him to congratulate him on his well cunning defence that had all but assured Lostrife's conviction. Lucius wished Potter to be there and pull him out of this hassle. Though he was grateful for the new standing he had gained with this group, after his time in prison and being mostly alone at the Manor, all the noise was starting to grate on his nerves.

It turned out that Hermione Granger was quite skilled in reading people. Undoubtedly a skill she had learned during their hunt, but nevertheless exceedingly useful at all times. Guiding him towards the atrium after a mere hour, she informed him, "I'll accompany you to the Manor to copy all of your documents regarding this case. Then we should floo to Grimmauld Place."

Since Lucius Malfoy was no actual barrister, thus not bound by their confidentiality agreement, he understood the necessity of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to duplicate his notes, no matter how little he liked it. His liege would want him to comply, he was sure of that. What puzzled him, however, was, "Why Grimmauld Place?"

"Well," the witch replied. "After our overwhelming success, I think you should be given a chance to celebrate with your family. Whatever you wish for, Kreacher will be able to provide it. Also, I don't know how long Harry will be caught up at work, and I think it would be best for you and your wife to spend your time somewhere where the magic of the house−elf is not restricted. In case of emergency."

Since these were all reasonable concerns, Lucius merely tilted his head, before preceding her to the Manor. On their way to his study, he could not help but ask. "To Robarts, you said that my mas… Harry made a protective parselmagic artefact for all of his friends. I assume that includes you."

Hermione tilted her head a little. "Your assumption is correct."

"Would you show me?"

The young witch offered a hint of a smile before shaking her head. "Don't take this the wrong way, Mr Malfoy, but no, definitely not."

Sensing that this was no topic to pry, Lucius changed the subject, gesturing towards his notes. "These two piles contain all the research I have conducted and the transcripts of all conversations I have had with my client."

Pulling a silver disk from the folds of her robe, Hermione began a series of complicated wand−motions and an unknown incantation. After nearly a full minute, the silver disc started to glow, and when the light faded, the woman slipped it back into its protective casing. At the puzzled look of the pureblood, she explained, "I prefer to have all of my data digitalised. That makes searching through them on my Laptop much easier."

"Of course," the former Lord agreed, not ready to admit that he literally had not understood a single word of what had been said.

Storing the disk in the folds of her robes, Hermione promised, "I will show you next time. But now let us collect the Lady Malfoy and get you to Grimmauld Place. I have to write a report on the verdict and would not mind returning home before ten p.m. for a change."

"Certainly." When they were all gathered in front of the floo, he bid his farewell with the words, "Thank you, Miss Granger. It was a pleasure to work with you."

Smiling, she replied, "The pleasure was all mine, Mr Malfoy. And it is Mrs Granger-Weasley when I am out of office. Just so you know." With a wink, she sent the pureblood couple on their way, apparating back to the ministry. For the first time in nearly three weeks, she was determined to finish early, so she could pick up Ron from work. It had been ages since they had had dinner and an evening to themselves.

−−O−O−−

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Neville and Harry came around, they were curled around each other, both clutching their wands in a vice−grip. They could feel the drainage of the shield-ing spell both had cast instinctively, but since everything was pitch−black, they didn't dare to let off on their protective magic. Coughing and slightly pulling back from each other, they soon realized that they were trapped in a tiny cavern, surrounded by the remnants of the house.  
> "I'm blaming you for this!" Neville choked out, inspecting their surroundings by grazing the rumble.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm blaming you for this!" Neville choked out, inspecting their surroundings by brushing his hands over the rubble.
> 
> Trying to take a deep breath, to expel the dust from his lungs, Harry winched from pain. Inspecting the back of his head, he hissed when it hurt like hell and his fingers came back sticky. Knowing his luck, the young Auror resigned himself to yet another laceration and possibly a concussion, judging from the way his brain throbbed. Still, they had more pressing matters to attend to. "Why?"
> 
> "Because we're the only ones here and I refuse to blame myself," his friend replied, ending his inspection by reaching behind Harry and then sighed defeated. The little cave was barely ten cubic feet and while shaped like their shields did not allow much maneuvering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit that I love, love, love this chapter!!! I hope you will too :).

While Lucius Malfoy enjoyed the triumph of losing, Harry and Neville tried desperately to corner the culprits of their muggle sacrifice case. All evidence pointed towards an ancient house and even the two Aurors had to admit that the aura of the place felt somewhat familiar. Still, something was not right. Anti−apparation wards surrounded the property and even their colleagues from the Magical Analysis and Examination Department (Sub−department of both the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Auror Corp) confirmed that anybody setting foot on the estate would trigger a plethora of alarms. Judging from the reports, Harry and Neville would be able to circumvent these measures, but somehow this all felt too easy.

In the end, however, after going over the available information three times, they decided to risk it. "Kreacher!"

"Yes, Sir."

"Are you ready? This is going to be dangerous."

Reaching for Harry and Neville's hand, the elf grumbled, "It's always dangerous because Kreacher's Sir refuses to take proper precautions. Always in head first. He won't make it long, no he won't and what will become of Kreacher then?"

The two Aurors merely traded a fond glance, too used to the house elf's antics, before pulling their wands. They trusted Kreacher to put them in the safest place possible. Past experience had shown this trust to not be in vain. One time, Kreacher had downright refused to comply with Harry's order. After yet another check, they had discovered a magical bomb embedded in the floor of the building in question. So, when the elf did transport them, they landed safe and sound in a hallway. The question was where to go from here?

With a simple gesture, Harry sent Kreacher to scout the place while he and Neville scanned their surroundings. Having an elf at their disposal had proven one hell of an advantage. While most witches and wizards guarded their homes against intruders, they rarely took the strong magic of their most loyal servants into account.

Since nobody could be spotted in their immediate vicinity and the floors and carpets did not seem to be warded, they decided to progress with caution. A decision that should save their life, since once they had entered the living−room, they instantly found themselves surrounded by half a dozen wizards with raised wands. Their shields snapped into place before the last crack of apparition died away.

Since both wore protective amulets, the Aurors stood back to back, allowing the power of the artefacts to amplify each other and concentrated on putting their attackers out of commission. Regrettably, they too wore protective gear and since the parselmagic protection Harry had created only kept away dark magic with deadly intent, every cutting or blunt force spell hit its target, albeit weakened by their shields. When Neville started to pull up strong shields, Harry went into the offence. The brunet Auror had a deep cut on his left upper arm that bled profoundly, and the raven-haired held his own torso, indicating a bruised if not broken rib. Seeing that targeting their attackers individually would not help their situation, Harry started to blast apart furniture and walls at their opponents backs to hit them from behind. Things were progressing slowly, but with Neville's formidable shields, the two were hopeful that they would be able to wear their enemies down. Things did not go as planned when they heard their backup trying to blast through the front door.

Conscious of the second line of attack the three wizards that remained, grouped together, and started a chant. No matter how much the two Aurors attacked them, their spells were diverted by an invisible force. It took the group of wizards barely twenty seconds to complete their ritual and their eyes were glowing an unnatural, electric blue when the leader turned towards them one last time, snarling, "You might have stopped us, but our legend will live on. By the power of Hecate, may we enter the afterlife by her eternal grace."

Then the world exploded.

−−O−O−−

When Neville and Harry came around, they were curled around each other, both clutching their wands in a vice−grip. They could feel the drainage of the shield-spells both had cast instinctively, but since everything was pitch−black, they did not dare to let off on their protective magic. Coughing and slightly pulling back from each other, they soon realized that they were trapped in a tiny cavern, surrounded by ruins.

"I'm blaming you for this!" Neville choked out, inspecting their surroundings by brushing his hands over the rubble.

Trying to take a deep breath, to expel the dust from his lungs, Harry winched from pain. Inspecting the back of his head, he hissed when it hurt like hell and his fingers came back sticky. Knowing his luck, the young Auror resigned himself to yet another laceration and possibly a concussion, judging from the way his brain throbbed. Still, they had more pressing matters to attend to. "Why?"

"Because we're the only ones here and I refuse to blame myself," his friend replied, ending his inspection by reaching behind Harry and then sighed defeated. The little cave was barely ten cubic feet and while shaped like their shields did not allow much manoeuvring.

The raven−haired’s non−committal sound was countered with the most pressing question, "Are you wounded?"

"I think I bumped my head and taking a deep breath hurts. What about you?"

"It feels the gash on my arm is the worst of it. It seems to be bleeding still."

Twisting around, hitting his friend with his elbow involuntarily, Harry managed to dig his keys out of his trousers pockets. During the last fair he had visited with Victoire and Teddy, the girl had won him a tiny flashlight, covered in violets. It was barely big enough to hold its battery, but until they decided to let off their shields, this would have to do.

 Carefully activating the tiny beam of light, Harry inspected Neville's wound and decided that it needed dressing as soon as possible. Together they ripped off the torn sleeve of Neville's robes and stripped them apart to serve as a makeshift bandage. Then it was Harry's turn. Since his ribs seemed to have suffered but a clean break and he was not coughing up blood for all they could see, they worked together on tightening his armour just shy of constricting Harry's lungs. Like this it was actually easier for him to move around. He nearly had his head on Neville's lap when his friend insisted on inspecting his head−wound. Since it was but a small cut and the back of Harry's skull was extremely sensitive to pressure, they decided to just dab away the blood and let it be. Then they discussed how to escape.

Apparating was out of the question since, despite the house obviously having been torn apart by the explosion, the wards were still active. Blasting their way out was not feasible either since they did not know how much rumble was piled over their heads. That left, "Kreacher? Kreacher!"

Panic washed over Harry's face when his house elf did not appear. He was not dead, could not be, because surely he would have noticed that. The only other explanation was him being surprised by the explosion and laying somewhere unconscious. Either way, getting out became all the more pressing now.

After a brief debate, the two Aurors decided to try the muggle way. While maintaining their shields against the debris, they tried to dig their way out. After half an hour, where seemingly impossible, Harry's headache seemed to be getting worse, they had blood on their hands, were significantly weaker from permanently maintaining their shield and had cleared about a foot of stone.

"This isn't working." Neville sighed, unable to fight off a headache from the stale air and overexerting himself. His arm was constantly throbbing now, and he could feel blood seep through the make−shift bandage.

Reaching for his friend, noticing him shaking, Harry admitted. "You're right." There was something he might be able to do, but it was a risk. For one, because he had never done it before and for another, he could poke a hole through the rumble as easy as tear the remains of the house to pieces. The problem was even if their colleagues were looking for them, it could take hours to make it to their position. That was time he and Neville definitely did not have. "Look, I might be able to … well … I …" Harry started, shaking his head, groaning at the pain, because thinking got harder by the minute.

"Just spit it out!" Neville demanded exhausted. "I doubt that we have any other options left."

"Okay," the raven−haired Auror steeled himself. "I could try parselmagic. It's all about intent. I will try to poke a hole through this rumble to get us some fresh air and possibly a way to contact the others."

Having already learned the basic of this strange kind of magic when Harry had gifted him and Luna with their jewellery, Neville added, "Or a number of things could happen, from blowing all of this to pieces, to apparating us several hundred feet above the ground, because then we would have fresh air and be able to talk to our colleagues easily. The fall that will kill us notwithstanding."

With a dejected sigh, Harry nodded carefully before admitting, "Also you would have to shield all by yourself for the duration of me casting the spell."

Since their odds were changing from bad to much worse by the minute, Neville gripped his wand tighter and reached for a leaf−brooch he always wore in the field. Luna had given it to him as a lucky−charm when he entered the Auror Department. Nodding to his partner, he decided, "You cast on one and I push everything I have into the shield. If it doesn't work, you have to take over because I doubt I can maintain it for longer than a few seconds."

Neither of them liked to put everything on one card, but they were out of options. So Harry nodded and Neville started to count, "Three … two … one," throwing every last bit of magic behind the shield-spell, while his partner tapped the stone above their heads and hissed, ~ _Show me the sky!_ ~

The stone around them started to shift and for a heartbeat expanding and deflating like it was breathing. As soon as the last, hissed syllable had left his mouth, Harry threw his entire power behind Neville's magic to maintain their little cave. Once the debris had settled around them, the Aurors wanted to despair since the spell did not seem to have had any effect, then a small ray of sunshine cut through the dust that still permeated the air. A quiet hiss indicated for air to steam in and after a few delicious breaths of oxygen, he and Neville started to shout for help.

It took their colleagues still more than an hour to get them out. Thankfully, when Harry and Neville both drooped from magical exhaustion, their cavern remained stable. Once they had been pulled out and were fixed on stretchers, Harry managed to rasp out, "Kreacher …" before he lost consciousness.

−−O−O−−

"Don't you dare lay a hand on me!" Narcissa's voice was so cold it could freeze water.

Harry was confused since he had never heard her like that. Also, his head still hurt, and his surroundings smelled of antiseptic and pain. Not a good combination. He tried to sooth the Lady Malfoy but realized that he could barely open his eyes, lying in a hospital bed, weak as a kitten.

"You and your son are still under house−arrest," someone growled. "And while the young Mister Malfoy might be permitted to be here due to his acclaimed vow of servitude, the same cannot be said for you. So, either you return home, or we will send you to Azkaban since you are violating the terms of your confinement!"

Harry's noise of protest came out as a weak whimper, that finally drew the attention of the other people in the room. A pale, blond head entered his field of vision and a heartbeat later, he had his arms full of a trembling and sniffing Hermione. "Oh, Harry, thank god you're awake."

Another croak made her pull back and Draco offered a spoon full of water. His voice was quiet and strained when he shared, "We were worried."

The water made Harry groan blissfully, offering a weak smile. When the hustle outside picked up again, he tried to sit up, but Hermione instantly pushed him back. "Narcissa …"

"Don't worry," she smirked weakly. "Molly will be back any moment. She just stepped out to get Draco some food."

Gratefully accepting more water from the embarrassed blond, Harry looked around and noticed knitting needles, idling away in a chair, poking at each other. Against the wall stood a small, uncomfortable looking couch, covered with a colourful cushion and a threadbare blanket. "How long …?" He began when the voice of Molly Weasley was heard outside.

"Auror Jenkins, so good to see you again." She said in an overly friendly tone. "and you brought Lady Malfoy, how very thoughtful of you. I'm sure Harry will appreciate your efforts when he wakes. Now, Narcissa−dear, why don't you help me feed that stubborn son of yours? In his concerns for Harry, he is neglecting himself entirely."

"Thank you, Molly, I'll be delighted to be of assistance." The purebloods warm tone could not be more different from the one she had addressed the Auror with.

"Sir."

"Auror Jenkins, have a good day."

The two women steamrolled the man, entering Harry's hospital room, arms entwined. As soon as the door fell shut behind them, Molly drew back and smiled when Narcissa tilted her head gratefully.

"I … but …," Harry could hear his colleague stutter, but it would need a much stronger man to contradict Molly Weasley on a mission.

"Honestly," the redhead shook her head exasperated. "The audacity of this man, when our Harry lies here, unconscious."

"Hi, Molly," Harry croaked, watching with a wince when the first mother−figure he had ever had startled at the sound of his voice. He did not have time to regret it, because the next moment, Mrs Weasley was upon him, pulling him into a hug so strong, he had trouble breathing. His weak pats on her back did nothing to make her ease up and he was infinitely grateful when Narcissa nudged Molly’s back with a gentle, "Let him breathe."

Brushing away some wayward tears, Molly sniffed slightly while straightening Harry's covers. "Right … of course … we were just so worried, dear. Fifty hours and not a peep."

"Well," Hermione, always the sensible one, started to explain when she noticed Molly's unease. "They did have a house topple down on them. Only their good instincts to shield first and think later kept them from being squished."

He wasn't sure if anybody else noticed the strangled noise of distress, Draco emitted, but upon closer inspection, he noticed that the blond looked about as bad as he felt. His complexion was so pale it could not be distinguished from the walls and his sunken−in eyes had circles so dark they looked painted on. Meeting his concerned glance, Draco offered more water at once, much to Harry's relief, but resolutely avoided his eyes.

The raven's attention was drawn away when Narcissa briefly squeezed his hand. "We are very glad that you have finally woken. We have, indeed, been quite concerned." From a pureblood and Lady that was practically a declaration of love, so it was now Harry's turn to blush and avoid her gaze.

"What?" He wanted to know what had happened, despite obviously being relegated to one−word questions. It was not surprising, that one of his best friends since first grade understood him anyway. Making herself at home at the foot of his bed, since Molly refused to relinquish his right hand while Draco had claimed the seat on the left, Hermione explained. "When your parselspell − brilliant by the way, but what were you thinking risking parselmagic when buried under a house?! − helped to draw the other Aurors attention, they started the tricky process of digging you out. You and Neville were beyond exhausted when they finally reached you."

At his agitated attempt to say something, she patted his legs soothingly. "They found Kreacher hiding in the oven, protected from the debris. Yet as soon as they spotted him, he vanished. We haven't been able to find him since." At his frown, she shrugged apologetically. "You and Neville were our main priority." Gesturing towards his chest, he was becoming increasingly tired, but he had to hear this, his friend nodded again. "Neville is fine. His upper arm was torn, blood vessels, sinews and muscles but they managed to heal him with minimal scarring. He was discharged yesterday evening. He's on a warpath against these Followers of Hecate and from what I've heard, the clues they pulled out of the house gave them a lot to go on. He won't be able to join another raid, but he is determined to find every last one of these bastards and stop the killings."

With an exhausted smile, Harry nodded at her gratefully. He mumbled a quiet, "Thanks," to Molly and Narcissa before he turned towards Draco and ordered with his last breath, "Eat! Sleep!" Then he drifted off again.

−−O−O−−

"Yes, I am aware of your deal with Harry and I have no problem with you tending to him twenty−four−seven the moment he leaves this hospital. But how exactly do you plan on doing that, Malfoy, if you faint from exhaustion?"

Ron's voice broke through Harry's semi−conscious state, alerting him to something not being right. When he opened his eyes, he noticed Malfoy standing at the foot of his bed, hunched in on himself as if Harry's best friend was about to take a swing at him. He met the red−head's eyes, but the other man gave no indication of his awakened state. He did, however, modulate his voice. "Listen, Hermione and I, Neville and Luna, as well as everybody else is really grateful for you keeping such a close eye on Harry. We appreciate your concern more than you know, but you can't continue to neglect yourself. Do you really think that is what Harry would want?"

When the raven−haired noticed Draco turning around, he closed his eyes and breathed evenly. "No," he heard the blond admit before the door opened and closed.

"Thanks," he croaked when Ron stepped up to the bed, gratefully accepting the sips of water his friend offered.

"Well, we **are** grateful," Ron insisted. "Though we try to be here as often as possible, with the numerous times you've been admitted to St. Mungo's, we barely have any free time left. Neville usually peeks in for an hour in the morning, conferring with the former Lord Malfoy about anything the pureblood has discovered about your case. According to your partner, Lucius is a tremendous help. So, he insisted since the man is your vassal anyway, that he can be included in the investigation without them breaking the Statute of Secrecy."

"Narcissa?"

"She keeps Lucius and Draco going. However, neither of them is making that easy. Lucius seems to consider the attack on you a personal insult and Draco … well, you saw him. Or didn't, but let me tell you, it's bad. He's never left your side, not even to eat or sleep. If he managed to doze off, he's plagued by nightmares." Noticing Harry's strained gaze, Ron sighed. "You knew that already."

Pressing his lips together, the recovering patient nodded reluctantly. After accepting more water he rasped, "I tried to help. Guard his sleep. I woke from a nightmare. He told me to leave."

"Proud bastard," the redhead grumbled, making both of them laugh. Regretting it instantly, Harry clutched his throbbing head and sank back with a groan. Noticing Ron's worried glance, he made a brush−off gesture to indicate that he'd had worse.

"Kreacher?" He asked after a few minutes of companionable silence.

"Mate, he's even weirder than usual. You know how Hermione is with house−elves, so she searched Grimmauld Place top to bottom until she found him in the cellar. He was hiding … is hiding in an old wine−barrel but won't even talk to her. Not even to Narcissa when she tried to give him an order. We have no clue what's going on, but at least he is physically alright. He even allowed Hermione one diagnostic spell to get her off his back."

Worried, Harry started to chew on his bottom−lip but found he had trouble keeping his eyes open. Maybe he could take a little nap and then decide what to do with his house−elf.

At Ron's soothing smile, he let his eyes droop and was fast asleep a minute later.

−−O−O−−

"Why are you here, Lovegood?"

"To talk to Harry, of course."

"Potter's sleeping."

"I'm aware."

Harry could not help but chuckle when overhearing that conversation. Could practically see the blond's eye-roll and the platinum's carefree smile. "You are not going away, are you?"

"Of course, I will." An earnest reply. "After I have talked to Harry."

Forcing his eyes open, Harry was treated to the sight of Luna slipping past Draco, gliding into the room. The young man's protests died on his lips when she slipped off her shoes and sat cross-legged at the bottom of his bed. The innocent audacity of Luna Lovegood overwhelmed most people. Fortunately, Harry had gotten used to it. Especially during his final year where they had shared several classes. Too few seventh-years had returned, so more than one class of per subject had been unnecessary. A year with all four houses in classes like Transfiguration, Charms or Potions had surely been an experience Harry would never forget. It had done a lot of good for the house-unity, that was for sure. "Hey, Luna."

"Hello, Harry," she beamed joyously, rummaging through her bag, producing a small bottle with a red liquid. "I brought you cherry−juice with a hint of cardamom and camphor. It will help your head to get better since you're leaving tomorrow."

Having long since accepted her tendency to offer weird home−made remedies, Harry dutifully took the bottle. It tasted incredibly weird at the first sip, but he had drunken worse.

"Are you out of your mind?" Draco interrupted, wrestling the bottle from his weak grip. "There is no proof of the beneficial properties of such a brew, Lovegood. The last thing Potter needs is being poisoned by your imaginary potions."

"That's not a potion," Luna explained patiently. "It's cherry−juice with a few spices."

Harry followed that comment with a quiet, but not less decisive, "Give it back, Malfoy."

Reeling, the blond looked at him. "You don't seriously consider drinking this."

Looking at the other with all the determination he could muster, the patient informed him, "Of course I will drink it. Luna is my friend. If she brings me something, I trust her that it will help!"

Contently, the girl smiled at them, watching without a word when the pureblood reluctantly handed back the open bottle. She pulled the latest draft of the Quibbler out of her pocket while Draco and Harry continued their quarrel.

"Anyway, what about this crazy idea, that you will leave tomorrow? Your body still needs sleep for about twenty hours a day! The medi−witch wants to keep you for at least another four to five days!"

Though the blond was certainly right, Harry had learned not to doubt Luna's predictions. Also, if all he did was sleep, he might as well do it at home. At least he felt more comfortable at Grimmauld Place than in a hospital. Therefore, he replied weakly, "I'll go home tomorrow."

Throwing his hands in the air, Draco challenged, "What, by Merlin, is this all about? You've never even talked about leaving against medical advice until now. Who is she, your personal seer?"

"More or less," was the quiet answer that left the pureblood dumbfounded.

"He will return home," Luna supplied, not even looking up from her editing. "For Kreacher and for you."

That shocked Draco out of his stupor and after gapping at her incredulously for a heartbeat, he fled the room. Once the door had closed behind him, Luna put her work aside and started to toy with her hair. "I'm sorry, Harry. Now he will have a much harder time to come to you."

Drinking his juice, handing back the empty bottle, he asked, "Can you tell me what this was about?" The sugar was hitting his system, invigorating him nicely and the camphor seemed to settle lasting nausea that went with most head−injuries.

Pondering the question, she shook her head. "No, you need to be around them. Otherwise, you can't help."

Reaching out, squeezing her hand comfortingly, Harry still had to try, "Is it bad?"

"Not at the moment," she eased Harry. "But if you’re not around, it could be."

After a while, she returned to a serene smile. "Ginny will visit tomorrow."

"Thanks." Harry smiled, before requesting, "Tell me about work."

"Work is wonderful!" Luna lit up like a child on Christmas morning. "Just this week, we …"

Having taken the position of chief editor right out of school, Luna Lovegood had managed to triple the sales volume of the Quibbler within the first year. Harry had helped, by providing exclusive interviews every few weeks. The wizarding world felt like they had the right to know about every last detail of their saviour's life. So, instead of fending off reporters left and right, he and Luna had a business lunch every three to four Wednesdays where he told her about whatever he felt comfortable sharing with the world. With her, he could at least be sure that his words weren't twisted in his mouth and after the first six months, he had stopped reading the drafts she sent him. He trusted Luna with his public image and so far she had not disappointed him. He had even managed to get an invite for her to several social functions after she had accompanied him as his 'plus one' and written glorifying reviews of one party or the other.

Now he let the retelling of her week wash over him, lulled to sleep by the dreamlike quality of her gentle voice.

−−O−O−−

For the first time since he had been admitted, struggles instead of words woke Harry. People were fighting, at least two from the sound of it. He identified one agitated whisper as Draco's, who hissed, "I can't just leave! I'm taking care of him."

The exasperated voice that responded belonged to Robarts. "We double-checked every document in our vault, and while the oath your father swore to Auror Potter has been filed, the same cannot be said about your alleged pledge of servitude. While I personally would give your family the benefit of the doubt, especially considering how helpful your father was with the Lostrife-case, this is out of my hands. You will return to the Manor, Mr Malfoy, and only after my Auror has confirmed and filed your alleged vow, will you be given leave to return to Grimmauld Place."

"You can't do that!" The terrified denial swiftly morphed into a full-blown panic as Draco wrestled with the Head Auror who had reached for him. "No! You can't make me to go back there! I ... Potter ..."

Finally, having wrestled free, the blond stumbled back towards the hospital bed, forcing Harry to pull himself into a sitting position to steady him. Determined to resolve this immediately, the injured Auror reached for the young man's waist and held him fast to ground him before he could have a panic attack.

"Draco?" Harry asked calmly.

When the blond whipped around, the raven-haired saw his terror and pulled him even closer. "Did you offer yourself, your abilities, everything you can do and everything you are in exchange for me trying to save your father from the Kiss?"

Lowering his eyes, sagging against the hold, Draco whispered, "I did."

Looking at his boss, the injured wizard declared, "I accept this offer of servitude. Draco Malfoy is mine, from this day forth, until I release him from this vow. Is that official enough for you, Sir?"

Barely able to suppress a smile, Robarts tilted his head. "It is. I will make sure our files are updated. Get better soon, Harry." After a brief check of his injury-prone Auror's chart, and a wink to Harry, he left the room.

Watching the other Auror from behind his lashes, Draco trembled when the door fell shut. "I won't have to return to the Manor," he breathed, and Harry confirmed that readily, to ease him. "No, you won't, you'll stay with me."

When Ginny entered the room a few minutes later, Harry was still in the process of calming his servant by rubbing his back as if soothing an anxious kitten.

The youngest Weasley beamed happily, upon entering, when she saw him sitting up. "Harry, you look better. What are we doing today?"

Undoubtedly, his first 'real' girlfriend intended to read him the latest edition of the Prophet or watch some horrible muggle TV. But all of a sudden, everything Luna had said fell into place and Harry pulled back his covers. "We are going home." Home, where nobody could simply barge in and harass his Malfoys. Home, where he could rest easier since he knew that those he was responsible for would be safe. After a moment, he yanked the covers back up since he was wearing but a hospital gown without pants. "Ahm ... Draco, could you please fetch me some clothes?"

Shaking her head, Ginny grinned and pulled out her wand. "I'll pack your bag while you dress."

−−O−O−−

Either Malfoy had learned by now that it was useless to argue with Harry once the Gryffindor had made a decision, or he was still rattled by the threat of being returned to Tom's former headquarters. Though the injured Auror had to be stabilized on his way to the front-desk, Draco did not intervene when he tried to check out against medical advice. Ginny did not bother either, just stepped up to the desk, five minutes into the argument, informing the nurse decisively, " Mr Potter is leaving, do you need him to sign any papers?" When the dark-haired witch started to protest once more, the young redhead interrupted easily, "No? Great! Have a lovely day," before gently nudging Draco and Harry towards the floo in the entrance hall. Anybody who tried to interrupt their path was met with an icy glare that would have done Draco's mother proud and three minutes later they could call out, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place."

Staggering out of the floo, stabilizing Harry, Draco turned around to reach for the raven haired's bag, but Ginny merely shook her head. "Don't bother. I'll bring them upstairs and dash out to get his potions. You wrestle him onto a couch somewhere and make sure he stays put."

True, their patient looked ready to droop, but when the blond opened his mouth to suggest him going to bed, he was cut off before he could even start, with a determined, "Don't even think about it. Just help me to my office."

−−O−O−−

Aware that protesting would be futile, Draco pulled Harry close, wrapping his arm around the other’s waist to guide him. Since Ginny was just bounding down the stairs and the blond wanted to have a word before she left for the apothecary, he turned away from his patient, as the other man opened the door to his office.

Harry couldn't help but smile when taking in the scene that unfolded before his eyes.

"No," Lucius exclaimed irritated, standing before the office-floo, arms crossed.

"Come on!" Someone in the flames tried to coax him. "We all know Potter's in St. Mungos. There were witnesses at the scene when he was admitted. All I want to know is how bad it is. You weaselled your way into his good graces. At least make it worth something. I would owe you, Malfoy!"

That was exactly how Lucius Malfoy had operated in the past. He had traded promises and secrets, had found himself in positions of influence and power by working the people. Despite feeling dead on his feet, Harry was somewhat curious how much the offer was worth for his vassal. Reporters were always good to have in one's pocket. He considered his and Luna's friendship a godsend. So instead of making himself known, Harry stayed at the door, listening in on the ongoing conversation.

Lucius was tied up, not even glancing in his direction. Narcissa, however, sat with a book and a notepad at the side. She spotted him almost instantly. Though Harry wanted to gesture for her to be quiet, he was concerned to lose his footing if he let go of the doorframe. Fortunately, when the Lady Malfoy drew a breath to speak, her husband merely raised his hand to keep her quiet. Folding his arms behind his back, he leaned ever so slightly forward and replied in a silky voice. "You are correct of course. After swearing a wizard's oath, I am in the fortunate position to have gained my liege's trust. A man, I might add, who has helped my family before, during and after the war." Smiling like the cold and calculating wizard he was, Malfoy leaned a fraction closer and informed his opposite icily. "And if you ever again feel the impulse of insinuating that I will betray him, I suggest you revise that desire, since I can guarantee, that you will not like my resulting reaction." Glaring sharply Lucius straightened once again. "Have a good day, Mr. Halbrook." Then he shut off the floo with a sharp gesture.

Harry's quiet chuckle sounded unusually loud in the now silent room, making his vassal whip around, blanching when he spotted his liege at the door. "That was the chief editor of the daily prophet. I ..." The young wizard managed before his body gave out.

Not having expected their unreasonable patient to suddenly collapse, Draco lost his grip on Harry's waist but fortunately, his father managed to capture the young man before he could hit the floor.

Lifting the young man bridal style, Lucius stepped back when both his wife and Ginny Weasley − a girl he had nearly killed in his delusional attempt to gain glory for his family, by releasing one of his Lord's early possessions into Hogwarts − immediately started to check Harry over. Calmly he reminded them, "Considering his fractured skull and him leaving against medical advice, I would say that Mr Potter is simply exhausted. No need to fret. Miss Weasley, may I impose on you for a little transfiguration? I'm afraid our patient won't consider going to bed, so we have to provide an alternative."

Aware that Harry was too stubborn for his own good, Ginny waved her wand over one of the visitor's chairs and changed it into a long, luscious couch. Despite his weak protests, their patient was deposited upon it and wrapped in the blanket she had fetched from the living-room. Despite his exhaustion, Harry tried to ease the purebloods, who looked at him with various degrees of concern.

They had switched allegiances too quickly and a part of Ginny was seriously worried about that, since they might switch again, as soon as a more sensible solution than aligning themselves with Harry Potter came along. For now, however, they seemed sincere and Neville had assured her that the Oath of Compulsory Surrender would keep the Lord ... former Lord ... Malfoy from harming Harry in any way. A part of her abhored knowing the pureblood by her friend’s side. After all, her past experiences with him were less than stellar. However, Ginny trusted Harry, so she asked easily, "I was about to step out to fetch his potions. Does any of you need anything?"

All three shook their head until Narcissa interrupted herself. "If you would be so kind, Miss Weasley, and fetch me some Essence of Echinacea? It boosts the immune system and since I expect Harry to thwart our attempts to keep him in bed, his body needs all the help it can get."

Considering this to be a likely estimation, Ginny nodded. "I'll put it on the list. And about keeping him in bed ... I might be able to call in some reinforcements."

"We would be tremendously grateful, Miss Weasley," Lucius remarked, not daring to look away from his liege. He had faulted this girl in so many ways, still, she seemed easily ready to forget his past transgressions in favour of caring for her friend. A part of him wondered if this easy truce was not too good to be true.

Surprisingly, he actually sounded genuine, so the young woman nodded and left Grimmauld Place for the apothecary. Leaving Harry with his guardians-slash-servants for now.

−−O−O−−

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "… magic is might." The Harry interrupted the former Lord coldly. "You know, I have seen the monument at the Ministry of Magic. A mirror of a delusional mind!" Fighting his way further up, the saviour of the wizarding world wanted to know. "Is that what you believe? Still? After all the suffering and death his delusions have brought over our world?" When his vassal did not reply immediately, Harry's anger gave him the strength to cross the room and force the pureblood to look at him. "Is it, Lucius?"  
> Unable to meet his liege's burning gaze, the former Lord lowered his eyes while admitting quietly. "Yes."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "G'ny?"  
> The soft light that fell through the half-closed curtains illuminated Harry's slow rouse from sleep, drinking in the sight of the woman by his side. With a choked sob, he pulled himself close, and she wrapped her arms around him, calming him. "It's all right. You're safe. We all are."  
> "Fred isn't," Harry choked. "Neither is Lupin, or Tonks, or Mad-Eye, or Sirius, … I …"  
> "Shhh … it's okay," she whispered, caressing the weeping man. "It's over, Harry. It's over."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but my husband and son attended a triathlon yesterday and we were out all day. It was an enjoyable day in the sun and both men did very good :).  
> Now have a good time with a recovering, stubborn, mulish Harry.

When Harry woke from his involuntary nap, he found Lucius Malfoy behind his desk, with Narcissa standing by his side, sorting through the mail. "There are at least half a dozen invitations for Halloween and several more for the social gatherings leading up to it. I wonder how our young Mr Potter juggles his public responsibilities between his work and guarding us."

Massaging the bridge of his nose, the former Lord sighed. "He didn't. Potter has not attended a single function since he brought us here."

Briefly pressing her lips together, Narcissa put down the letters. "He can't do that! His social standing will suffer if he continues to neglect these duties."

Chuckling inwardly, because the idea of him attending all the pureblood functions he was invited to was simply ridiculous, Harry tried to sit up. "To be perfectly honest, I did not accept any of these invitations before you came around either." He could see the impulse of both Malfoys to crowd him again and was grateful when they stayed at the desk. He managed to sit up and accept the orange juice Kreacher put in his hand.

Watching his injured liege, Lucius shook his head. "It is unwise to shun the pureblood society. You should reconsider this stance. Even the light families have their pride, and if you ignore them, they might turn against you."

"And do what?" Harry asked drily. "I have had the darkest wizard of all time out for my blood pretty much since I was one. What exactly can anybody do that would live up to that?"

Used to worrying about his family’s social standing his entire life, Lucius gaped, unable to find a suitable reply. Of course, no pureblood with half a brain would go after Potter, but …

Elegantly sinking into the armchair by Harry's side, Narcissa explained, "Our society is about more than power."

"Could've fooled me," Harry mumbled, but gestured apologetically for her to continue.

"Why are you an Auror, Harry?"

"Because I want to make our world a better … a safer place where nobody has to be afraid of being attacked, simply because they are muggleborn; or discriminated because of their creature-status. Most of Tom's remaining supporters are fanatics!"

"And you think rounding them up and locking them away will change that?"

"Of course," the young man nodded empathically. "With nobody hating them, witches like Hermione will have a real chance without fighting tooth and nail for it."

"That's not how it works," the former head of the Malfoy' family stated quietly, approaching the open window. "That's not even what he was about." After a heartbeat, he added. "At least not at the beginning."

"What?" Harry inquired sharply, making both pureblood flinch imperceptibly.

Taking a steeling breath, Lucius turned. His face was an impenetrable mask when he explained. "Our society, the real wizarding society is slowly dying. Our obsession with blood-purity has weakened our bloodlines. Bellatrix came from an excellent family, but inbreeding has weakened her mind." Looking at his wife apologetic, he continued. "Narcissa and I tried for an heir several times. When Draco was born, we had nearly given up hope. Andromeda was the only Black who carried an offspring with exceptional powers, simply because she bonded with a muggle-born. Yet Nymphadora was never educated in our ways. No matter her exceptional abilities, our traditions were lost on her." With a sigh, Lucius turned towards the window again. "That's what he wanted to change."

"By eradicating them?" Harry growled.

"No, by bringing them into our society as soon as they showed the first signs of magic. To give them a chance to be proud of what they were by integrating them into a world that understood them. Who they were and what they could do. Our Lord wanted to preserve our ways, our traditions. Make us strong again, by bringing us out of our degenerated ways, into a world where …"

"… magic is might." The young man interrupted coldly. "You know, I have seen the monument at the Ministry of Magic. A mirror of a delusional mind!" Fighting his way further up, the saviour of the wizarding world wanted to know. "Is that what you believe? Still? After all the suffering and death his delusions have brought over our world?" When his vassal did not reply immediately, Harry's anger gave him the strength to cross the room and force the pureblood to look at him. "Is it, Lucius?"

Unable to meet his liege's burning gaze, the former Lord lowered his eyes while admitting quietly. "Yes."

Rearing, Harry stumbled back, but when Lucius reached for him, the young man wrenched his arm out of the pureblood's grip. "Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me, Lucius Malfoy!"

Dejected the man stepped back, raising his hands in surrender. For a minute, both hovered in suspension, Lucius barely dared to breathe, before Harry hissed, "Get out of my sight!" Then the man fled.

Once the door had closed, the raven turned towards Lady Malfoy and challenged, "And you? Do you share his beliefs?"

With a non-committal gesture, Narcissa wanted to know, "That depends, are you willing to listen if I share my point of view?"

Since his knees started to give out, despite leaning against the wall, Harry reluctantly returned to the chaise.

Offering more juice, the Lady took in the distressed young man. "Before I begin, there is one thing you need to understand, Harry: Magic **is** Might." When he opened his mouth to contradict, she merely raised her hand." Please, let me explain." Sinking back reluctantly, Narcissa continued in a gentle tone. "Tell me, if you had known a simple shielding charm from a very young age, would your childhood have been as bad as it was? Or let us go one step further: What would have happened if you had grown up in an orphanage with magical children; witches and wizards taking care of you? What would have become of Tom Riddle? From what I understand, you were in contact with the echo of the charismatic student that later became Lord Voldemort. Is it really so hard to believe, that people - who wanted to preserve our ways - followed him?"

"Yes!" Harry snapped. "If it came at the cost of all muggleborn!"

"But that is the point, Harry, it did not. Not at the beginning. Lord Voldemort wanted to separate our societies, to keep us safe. World War I and II were eyeopeners! True, some spells can kill, but a single muggle bomb can eradicate an entire city block. Muggles are dangerous and have the tendency to destroy everything they do not understand or fear. If we separate us from them, preserve our rules and remember our traditions from an early age, we can keep our children and us safe.

"While in school, Lord Voldemort was researching ancient magic, disciplines and spells long forgotten. Knowledge that would connect us to our roots once again, help us to unlock the powers of the world around us, so we could become once again what we were centuries ago."

Remembering Brazil and the wizards and witches who had lived and breathed peacefully in harmony with the magic of their land, Harry shook his head, "That's not what he was about."

"At the beginning, yes, he was. He lost himself in the anger and pain of his upbringing and gave too much power to a prophecy he might as well have ignored. I don't know when he lost his sanity, but by then, most of us had already sold our souls for the chance of a better future and had no choice but to follow a madman."

Pressing his lips together, closing his eyes, Harry shook his head. "I don't understand, why you are telling me this? I will never absolve any of the Death Eaters; no matter how good their intentions thirty years ago."

"I don't expect you to," Narcissa reached out and gently touched Harry's cold hands. "But our people won't change their beliefs, just because all Death Eaters and supporters of Lord Voldemort are gone. You want acceptance for muggleborn and creatures? You have to work for it. You're in the unique position to actually change something. True, the light-families will do no harm, not compared to what you have been through. But their political power, if you can convince them of your ideas, can certainly make a difference. For that, however, you have to make yourself available, exceeding monthly columns in The Quibbler. You need to talk to people. That's what these invitations are for."

For several minutes, Harry looked from the Lady Malfoy to the invitations on his desk and back again. Quietly he dismissed her. "I'll have to think about it."

With a pleased smile, she rose and turned to leave. At the door, the young man's voice held her back. "Thank you, for educating me."

Tilting her head, the pureblood replied, "Thank you, for listening."

−−O−O−−

Harry found little recuperation that afternoon, Narcissa's words were bouncing around in his head until they became an avalanche, blocking out all reason. The worst of it was: he could see the truth behind them. Tom Riddle had been an insane and vindictive bastard. However, girls like Hermione, any muggle-raised in fact, were at a severe disadvantage when starting Hogwarts because they knew nothing of wizarding traditions. Harry could see people like Draco - who had been raised in the wizarding society - detesting them for it because with so many new witches and wizards not knowing, how much time would it take for these traditions to vanish?

It was a narrow-minded and petty view. But at its core, it stemmed from fear of their way of living, their values, being diluted until they became unimportant, even to those who understood the power behind festivities like Samhain or an Equinox. However, if they educated children from the first time they displayed magic. If they took the chance to bring them together with pure-bloods so the cultural exchange could start from the time they were toddlers, it might not even matter in the end if their parents raised them with the tales of Beetle the Bard or the Brothers Grimm. Throw a few children with creature blood into the mix, and people like Hagrid seemed a lot less scary all of a sudden. But who was he to think he could change their entire world?

Harry was woken from a light doze by Foxglove, who had claimed a place on the back of the chaise and started grooming the raven-haired. "What do you think I should do?" The young man looked up, but lowered his head again, when his owl hooted in irritation. "Who would even listen to me?" At another soft noise from Fox, a realisation hit. Everybody listened! Every bloody witch and wizard in Britain devoured, dissected, and repeated everything he said and did. Maybe Narcissa was right. Perhaps he could change their ways, keep the people safe, not only by catching dark wizards but by making people learn from their mistakes. Children were left alone until they started Hogwarts, but what would have happened if Dumbledore had taken Tom Riddle with him after the boy's magic had been revealed? What decisions would have Severus Snape made, had he not alienated his best friend with a horrible insult he had learned on his grandfather's knees? And how would Draco's life have turned out, had his parents encouraged friendship with people like Hermione instead of setting them up as competitors?

Hermione! He needed to talk to Hermione and Ron and Neville and maybe contact Seamus, whose father had not even known about magic, despite his wife being a witch. Maybe Harry was hopelessly naïve and would never change the way the wizarding world perceived others. But if he could create a foundation for change, his godson would not be viewed with trepidation or even fear. Change brought on fast, needed a dictator and dictatorships never lasted. But if you took your time - a generation or two - people could come together. Those who had fought Voldemort would have children themselves and remember where arrogance and prejudice had led them. Harry just needed to help people to get the right idea, because - as history had shown - nothing was more powerful than an idea that's time has come.

A glance at the clock told him that Hermione ought to still be at the office. So, he untangled himself from his blankets and resolutely approached the fire. At least that had been the plan. His body, however, had a different idea. He looked up confused when two slim arms kept him from faceplanting on the carpet. "Whut?" Harry forced out, from where he was squished against Draco's narrow chest, fighting the dizzy-spell his fast-rising had brought on.

Instantly the blond adjusted his grip and pulled him up. "Alright?"

Steadying himself with the help, the raven inquired surprised, "When did you come in?"

"'Bout an hour ago," Draco revealed. "Ginny went shopping and decided to cook dinner. My mother and I offered to help, and while her support was appreciated, I was kicked out and sent here. I thought you might needed help." The blond gestured towards the armchair Narcissa had occupied before. He had pulled it closer to the fire, and a book on potions lay on the floor beside it.

For a heartbeat they hovered, unsure of how to proceed since they were so unusually close. The life of Draco's potential children could be different from his, maybe even better. Dictators brought pain and suffering, but with a better plan …

"I need to talk to Hermione."

"Oh, alright." Without further ado, Draco helped the raven to the fire and after handing him the floo-powder, left the room.

Harry invited his two best friends on Saturday, before fighting his way up again. He had merely opened the door, but the blond was back by his side in an instant, arm wrapped around his waist to help him to the kitchen.

−−O−O−−

Draco had been on edge ever since his father had left. His mother had tried to ease his anxiety, but the commotion in the office and Lucius' untimely departure had indicated some kind of conflict between vassal and liege. After dinner had been well on its way, his mother had taken two half-finished portions and had taken her leave as well. Since Ginny Weasley was content to hustle and bustle around the kitchen, Draco had chosen a chair in the office to make himself available for Harry. Maybe Potter would not begrudge his father's mistake if the rest of the family showed themselves suitable subservient.

The injured man had drifted in and out of consciousness, with his owl perching at the edge of the backrest, like some silent guardian. Would Draco be sent away as well? He had not wanted to listen in on the quarrel, but when his father had left the office to return to the Manor, the man had looked pale and barely in control. It had uncomfortably reminded Draco of the last time the former Death Eater had been around the Dark Lord. Still, he had kissed Draco's forehead and imposed on him to 'be good' before he had left.

His mother had merely smiled at him comfortingly and told him to take care of their patient. Not that Draco had had different intentions. All male Malfoys were bound to Potter by oath and his mother by proxy. But if the topic of blood purity ever came up, what stance was Draco supposed to take? Should he tell the truth or lie to remain in Potter's good graces? In the end, they could not afford to alienate the man. Too much was at stake.

To avoid conflict, the young man had decided to make himself as sparse as possible. The more he hovered in the background, the better his chances of avoiding a confrontation.

So, when the raven-haired finally woke, he offered assistance but stayed out of reach as long as he was not immediately needed. Fortunately, the young Miss Weasley seemed content to carry the conversation over dinner, chicken soup with a few biscuits for dessert. From the looks of it, she had prepared a few helpings, promising that they would have enough food for the next day, even if Kreacher remained elusive.

After the meal, Draco was content to let the young woman pull her friend into the living room for some muggle television, while he cared for the dishes. The blond felt something akin to pain when he peeked in on them, finding the couple entwined on the sofa, Harry softly snoring in the young woman's arms.

It was fine, Draco tried to convince himself when he retreated to his room. He had spent the last few days on an uncomfortable, transfigured sofa in a hospital room. Se, he was more than happy to spend a restorative night in his own bed. Only, these past few weeks had taught him that his night would not be as relaxing as he had hoped. He had not slept through a single one since expelling Potter from his room. Yet, what could he do? Inviting the other man to stay would certainly send the wrong message. Draco just wanted to sleep, but that did not matter anyway.

His duty was to serve Potter. The other wizard had held up his end of the bargain; had saved his father from the Dementors and so much more. Despite their former rivalry, and fighting on different sides of the war, the 'saviour of the wizarding world' had made an effort to save Draco's family as well. No matter that he had owed them nothing after what the Malfoys had done to him and his friends. Draco had willingly accepted the mark of a madman, to protect his parents, serving Potter was nothing compared to that. He could set aside his own desires in favour of his new master.

The blond told himself that; and more, that he stayed close out of concern of being available if needed. So, the blond did not even think twice about keeping his door open after going to bed. He should readily be available, if Harry needed him at night. At no point did he plan to investigate the sleeping arrangements of Ginevra Weasley in her former boyfriend's home.

−−O−O−−

Nevertheless, aforementioned arrangement revealed itself, when Draco woke in the middle of the night, covered in cold sweat, faint noises permeating the haze of his nightmare-plagued mind. The young man hesitated at the bottom of the landing that led to the third floor. Yet when a distressed whimper came from Potter's bedroom, Draco climbed the stairs and quietly pushed open the door. He did not plan to snoop, merely care for their patient, and leave again. Yet he was rooted on the spot when a clearly naked Ginny pushed herself up. She had slept on her stomach, one arm still under the pillow, turned away from Harry. The moment she raised her upper body, turning towards her friend, her long, red hair covered her alabaster skin while the blankets pooled in the small of her back. Gently, she placed a calming hand on Harry's trembling chest and whispered soothingly, "It's all right, Harry. Voldemort is gone. It is October 2003 You are at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Everything is all right, Harry, we won."

…

"G'ny?"

The soft light that fell through the half-closed curtains illuminated Harry's slow rouse from sleep, drinking in the sight of the woman by his side. With a choked sob, he pulled himself close, and she wrapped her arms around him, calming him. "It's all right. You're safe. We all are."

"Fred isn't," Harry choked. "Neither is Lupin, or Tonks, or Mad-Eye, or Sirius, … I …"

"Shhh … it's okay," she whispered, caressing the weeping man. "It's over, Harry. It's over."

She too sounded close to tears, and somehow Draco felt like he was invading a private moment. Slipping out quietly, he sank to the floor on top of the stairs. Of course, he had been aware that a man with Potter's life suffered from nightmares. After all, that had brought their unusual sleeping arrangement to his attention in the first place. Yet he had never thought about it in depth. Harry Potter was the saviour of the wizarding world, the saviour of his family. And while serving the Dark Lord came with its own set of nightmares, so did fighting a war, watching people die for a cause Harry had figure headed. Draco had never looked beyond the grief his immediate family had suffered. But Harry had had the weight of their world placed on his shoulders. It was not surprising that he felt responsible for every life lost, worst of all Fred Weasley, a member of a family that had adopted Harry as one of their own. Also, his cousin Sirius, the last connection the young man had had to his parents. Now his regular visits to the joke-shop and his obsession with the trice-damned carpet downstairs made so much more sense.

Leaning against the fading wallpaper, Draco felt pretty small. True, this afternoon's conflict had banished his parents from the grounds, one by word and one by choice. But still, he could be sure, that his mother and father were all right. No matter how much he feared Malfoy Manor, it was still their home, and they were safe there. The mere idea of losing them as Potter had lost so many threatened to suffocate Draco. He just could not fathom a world without his parents in it.

Yet, Harry Potter had lost his when he had been a mere year old. He had been thrown into a world he had known nothing about at eleven and after six years of trials, tribulations, and petty schoolyard rivalry, managed to save them all. And still, his first concern was others, despite having done more than his fair share already, if his work as an Auror was any indication.

Draco was rambling, even in his own head, he realised. Still, watching the moon travel over the night sky, through the third-floor window, the blond took his time to sort through everything he thought, felt and knew. He banished his petty jealousy to the back of his head, resolved to serve and support his new master to the best of his abilities. Not because he had promised, or because he owed it, but because it was the right thing to do. Potter had been through enough in the first eighteen years of his life. It was time that he had more people in his corner who supported _him_ , not the person they believed he was.

Draco knew that he would never gain much of Potter's trust as Granger or Weasley … or Weasleys in this case, but he could work on earning a little. A little bit would be enough.

−−O−O−−

"You know he doesn't like anybody up here?"

Ginny's voice pulled Draco out of an uneasy sleep. Looking around, he gathered that he must have dozed off on the landing. Taking in the redhead, he noticed the boxers and shirt she had undoubtedly fleeced from Potter and swallowed a retort of her being here as well. It would be of no use since they both knew that she belonged to Potter's Inner Circle.

"He had a nightmare, as had I. It was a coincidence that I heard him."

"I know," she sighed, sinking down on the stairs beside him. "They are fewer and farther apart, but still there. He rarely talks about them, though we think it would help." Taking his lack of reply as attention, Ginny advised, "Talk to him when you enter his room. Remind him where he is and when. Do not touch him. He tends to lash out when he is scared and not all there."

Draco swallowed another reply of her touching Harry but did not want to give away his spying. Hence, he merely nodded and stated quietly. "Thank you. I will keep that in mind."

With a brief smile, Ginny rose and inquired, "Kreacher's still elusive, so I'll make breakfast. Anything you want?"

Biting his tongue for a moment, Draco debated with himself, if it would be smart to make a request. In the end, his craving won out. "Would pancakes be too much of an effort?"

Chuckling, the youngest Weasley shook her head. "No, pancakes would be no effort at all."

Skipping down the stairs, she lingered on the last, looking at him pondering. "Don't snoop into his room, Draco. Not even if one of us is around. Even we tend to hex first and ask questions later. Remember that our wands are never far."

Swallowing through a constricting throat, Draco nodded. "Alright."

So much for keeping his spying hidden.

−−O−O−−

Half an hour later found the trio in the kitchen, gorging themselves on the excellent strawberry pancakes with whipped cream, when a bleary-eyed Ron stumbled in. Spotting the breakfast, he at once claimed a chair and served himself. After enjoying his first helping, he complimented his sister before turning towards his best friend. "You look horrible."

"And good morning to you too, Ron." Harry chuckled, holding out the syrup.

Taking it gratefully, the redhead shook his head. "How are you not still at the hospital?"

Pushing around his second pancake, Harry shrugged, avoiding all eyes. In a barely audible mumble, he revealed, "They were harassing my Malfoys."

"Your, …" Ron choked, looking at his sister. "Alright, I get it. I'll keep his sorry arse glued to the sofa."

"Thank you, Ron." Ginny smiled before kissing Harry's cheek. "Since you are in good hands now, I have to dash. I have a meeting at nine and practice at eleven. Love you, Harry. Nice to see you, Malfoy. By, Ron, tell mum I'll try for Sunday, but I can't make any promises."

When she had whirled out the door, Harry grumbled, "I'm not an invalid."

"No, mate," his best friend shrugged easily. "You just look like death warmed over and either you lie down and recover, or I will drag you back to St. Mungos, Malfoy included."

"You wouldn't."

"I'll call Hermione for help."

Knowing when he was beaten, Harry ate the last of his breakfast, before allowing Draco to help him to the office. After Ron had cleaned up the kitchen and forced the required potions down the raven-haired's throat, he sorted out Harry's desk and settled down with tea and a mountain of paperwork he produced from an innocent looking carrier bag. Undoubtedly Hermione's undetectable expansion charm at work.

Grumbling tiredly under his breath, their patient mumbled, "I don't need a keeper, you know?"

"Of course not, mate. Now go to sleep."

When two minutes later, Harry's breath had evened out, Draco whispered from his chair beside the chaise. "Thank you, for coming in."

Chuckling under his breath, very much like his sister before, the redhead shrugged, "We appreciate all you have done, Malfoy. But Harry is a mule at the best of times. Usually, it needs either Hermione or mum to get him to rest. Believe me, nobody expects you to keep him in bed until he is fully healed. We will all have your back."

A new concept, Draco had to admit. To have people to help him; not to cause mayhem, but to heal. This would need some getting used to. But still, Draco smiled and repeated, gazing at the sleeping raven. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

−−O−O−−

Fleur came in the next day. She carried needlework that would make Draco's mother envious. The picture she had created with thread and needle started to move as soon as she finished the last stitch and Draco imagined someone paying a lot of money for it, judging by the care she put into wrapping it in spiders-paper.

Though she and Harry reminisced enthusiastically about the Triwizard's Tournament, something they both could look back to with a smile on their faces now, the young man still slept away the majority of the morning.

After lunch, leftover soup and fresh sandwiches, Draco came to the decision that he liked the part-Veela. Despite thinking that Beauxbatons was putting too much value on beauty and too little in power, he learned that, while the French-girl did everything with grace and gentleness, she had a core of steel and enough skill to back it up.

Whenever Harry protested a suggestion, she agreed readily with him, using subtle charms and manipulation to still get her way, be that him taking another nap or his potions. When their patient insisted on strenuous activities, like a walk through the garden for example, she used a sticking charm on his bed, before transforming it into a wheel-chair. At the same time, she kept up a natural flow of conversation, so no matter how irritated Harry was with her, in the end, she always managed to make him smile.

Draco enjoyed her company, jumping at the chance to dust off his French. They were laughing in the back-garden, where Fleur currently sketched out a motive for her next picture when all of a sudden, a vicious growl interrupted their conversation. While Draco froze and slowly turned around, lowering his eyes the moment he recognised William Weasley, Fleur beamed and approached her snarling husband. The blond's impulses were at war. On the one hand, he definitely wanted to reach out, and pull the fragile girl to safety; on the other, even half a step forward made the growling even more intense. Torn between not provoking a predator but protecting an innocent, Draco could only hover indecisively. What concerned him even more, was Fleur not giving the slightest indication of being afraid or even slightly hesitant to hug the clearly agitated man, nipping at his chin playfully. The growling stopped, and Draco dared to raise his eyes.

Only now did he notice that the werewolf-victim did not even look at him. The scars were evident on William's angry face. Still, he visibly tried to calm himself with even breaths. Smiling down at his wife, he lovingly kissed her forehead, before opening his arms. Draco observed him clenching his fists when stepping up to the sleeping Harry. Carefully reaching out, he brushed a wayward strand of hair out of the younger wizard's face. Despite talking quietly, the fury in his voice was still audible, when he demanded to know, "Have they caught them already?"

"I, …" Draco croaked, clearing his throat embarrassed. "I am not sure. Actually, Neville Longbottom is currently tied to his chair. Still, as far as I know, he is on top of the investigation." After a moment, he added hesitant, "Sorry, that I don't know more."

Looking up from Harry, Bill smiled at Draco comfortingly, putting a calming hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Malfoy. You're doing your best here. It's just hard seeing Harry like that. He's been through so much in his short life. I wish the universe would give him a break."

Hugging her husband anew, Fleur reminded him, "'Arry chose this, Bill."

"I know," the ginger relented. "I just … why can't he choose knitting as a profession? Much safer."

Chuckling weakly, a waking Harry injected, "With my luck, I would still have to fight Death-Eater-wannabes with but knitting needles as my only defence."

"True," The curse-breaker grinned, relaxing a little. "Just, … try to be more careful. I can't … we can't bear to lose another brother. Not after Fred. Please, don't make us."

Pressing his lips together, so they turned white, even against his already pale face, the raven-haired promised in a harsh whisper, "I'll do everything in my power to avoid that, Bill."

Nodding, marginally comforted, the oldest Weasley-brother, shared, "Mum will come in tomorrow, and Fleur, me or both of us will visit next week. Get better, Harry, so you and Neville can hunt down these bastards like the dogs they are."

Once the couple had left, Draco returned to the terrace to wheel Harry back inside. After dinner, they shared a quiet cup of tea in the living-room. Having pondered the conversation with William Weasley sufficiently, the blond remarked, "It seems that the Weasleys have adopted you into their family."

Putting down the book he would never admit to being too heavy for him, Harry chuckled. "Yes, I think that happened after Ron and the twins rescued me from the Dursleys between first and second year. When we entered the Burrow, Molly screamed at them, while welcoming me. Which was really weird. Then she made sure that we were all unharmed and served breakfast. That was the first time in over a month that I had not felt hungry after a meal."

Harry biting his lips proved that the raven had overshared once again. To paper over the moment, Draco commented, "That sounds lovely."

"It was," Harry admitted after a moment. Then he added near inaudible, "Like having a mother, for the first time I could remember."

−−O−O−−

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closing his eyes, unable to keep the pain out of his voice, Draco whispered, "The winter solstice is a time of great power. It marks the return of the sun. We used to host the Yule-ball for all our family and friends. We put up an altar at the side where every guest could light a candle. I was allowed to light the sun-candle ever since I was two years old.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Magic is Might," Harry stated, barely leaning aside in time for Ron not to spit his tea all over his shirt.  
> After hacking up a lung, Ron glared at his best friend and demanded, "What the hell, mate?"

Said mother-figure brushed through Grimmauld Place like a storm, the next day. Between berating Harry for not being more careful at work, setting Draco on so many tasks it made his head spin, and cooking enough food to satisfy an army, both men were exhausted when Molly Weasley left at five to be home in time to prepare dinner for her own family. Harry and Draco had eaten more and far healthier than on any other day of the week, and the house was squeaky clean.

However, both were relieved when Narcissa arrived just after breakfast the next day, bringing along a staggering amount of paperwork that promised a tiring but ultimately quiet day.

Harry enjoyed long naps between reheated meals and finally a reduced number of potions, while Draco managed to finish his first book from the Black library. The blond even sorted through several volumes that were to his liking and managed to narrow down a selection to three suitable alternatives to present, with the help of his mother. Still, he and Narcissa decided to wait for the next day, to ask Harry's permission for Draco to start another book.

The next day was Saturday, and since Harry's colour had returned a mere day after barely interrupted sleep, the blond dared to present his choices. He was quite disheartened when the other brushed all of them aside. However, when Harry requested for him to fetch a specific tome, Draco's jaw hit the floor. ">To Harm or to Heal - A Master's Guide to Potions<. Are you mental?"

"Possibly," the raven-haired replied drily before demanding to know. "Is this too advanced for you?"

"Yes!" Draco exclaimed, then shook his head, reverently browsing through the pages. "No, … it's complicated. I could brew some of these. Others I would have to work my way up to. But in here are recipes for potions like >The Draught of the Living Dead<. You can't give me access to such concoctions!"

"Are we discussing my lack of trust issues again?" When the blond put down the volume, Harry wanted to know. "Aren't you interested in this book?"

"Of course, I am," Draco admitted as if his longing gaze and his worshipful handling of the tome had not been sign enough.

"Then look at it this way: some of the most potent healing-draughts can be found in there. In my profession, I can only benefit from someone with such in-depth knowledge at hand."

"But I couldn't even brew any of them." The other man mumbled. "I would need a proper laboratory, and … a wand." He added quietly.

"Well," Harry relaxed back in his chair. "We'll see about that later."

−−O−O−−

The moment Kreacher put eggs, toast, sausage and beans on the table, on Saturday morning, Ron entered the room with a pigeon-like homing-instinct he seemed to possess whenever food was concerned. Hermione followed at a more sedated pace, actually greeting Harry and Draco before helping herself to some of the plentiful breakfast. Apparently, Draco's cleaning had pulled Kreacher out of hiding, and the house-elf had picked up his duties again, at least when it came to mealtimes. Any other time of the day he was hardly seen.

After having finished her first cup of tea, the witch wanted to know, "Alright, Harry, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Magic is Might," Harry stated, barely leaning aside in time for Ron not to spit his tea all over his shirt.

After hacking up a lung, Ron glared at his best friend and demanded, "What the hell, mate?"

Raising his eyebrows, the raven-haired vanquished the mess before starting his explanation. "I had a fascinating conversation with the Malfoys yesterday."

When even Hermione started to look sceptical, with Ron downright glaring daggers at Draco, the blond injected somewhat hesitant. "Maybe that is not the best way to begin this conversation."

Looking at the three people he had grown up with through six years of Hogwarts, Harry shook his head. "No, this is exactly where we should begin. You all need to understand that this is coming from someone who had been living and breathing wizarding traditions all their lives."

"The Malfoys followed You-know-who!" Ron growled. "Voldemort! You know what I mean!" He corrected himself impatiently when his friend scowled.

"They did," The raven-haired agreed readily, putting a steady hand on Draco's leg that jiggled frantically under the table, and while the blond froze for a heartbeat, he relaxed afterwards. "My main concern is their reason for it."

"That 'Magic is Might', Harry?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "Don't tell me you started to believe that people like Ron and Draco are better than you and me just because both of their parents were wizards."

"No, of course not!" Was the empathic reply and Harry relaxed slightly when his friends breathed a small sigh of relief at his knee-jerk reaction. "The point is, that all four of us are more powerful than the average muggle. We make objects fly, conjure fire, kill or heal with but a flick of our wand."

"Muggles can things too."

"I know, Hermione. And I don't want, in any way, to degrade your parents. They are amazing, kind, compassionate and highly intelligent people. But not even you can deny that, with but your wand, you are more powerful than them. You have survived things they never would, simply because you have magic."

Leaning back, folding her arms over her chest, she motioned slowly, "Go on."

"What happens on the 21st of December?"

"The longest night of the year?" The muggleborn replied puzzled. "After that night, the days go longer again."

Harry nodded. "Ron?"

"Midwinter. It's a day you spend with your loved ones and your family. You sit around the fire, hang up your stockings and burn herbs. We used to do scavenger hunts but stopped when … we stopped when it became too dangerous. There was a feast with an extra plate on the table with offerings for those who had passed."

Hermione was looking at her husband in surprise, but Harry was already turning his head, requesting quietly, "Draco?"

Closing his eyes, unable to keep the pain out of his voice, Draco whispered, "The winter solstice is a time of great power. It marks the return of the sun. We used to host the Yule-ball for all our family and friends. We put up an altar at the side where every guest could light a candle. I was allowed to light the sun-candle ever since I was two years old.

"The room was decorated with bowls of nuts and fresh apples, mistletoe on every door and mother used to make it snow. Father would release a flock of rabbits, and we would hunt them on horseback. The elves used to make them into the most delicious feast upon our return while we started the bonfire. Every hunter was supposed to either bring back food or a log. We considered the next season blessed if the fire was touched by the first light of the new sun come morning.

"After You- … Voldemort returned, it was just mother, father and I light the candles in my parents' bedroom. We used to pray:

>This is the season of cold and white,  
may your spirit shine bright, this very night.  
With intuitive vision and beauty of sight.<"

"May your heart embrace the return of the light." To everybody's surprise, Ron had completed the last sentence of the prayer together with Draco. The redhead held the blond's gaze when they finished in one voice.

"Blessed be."

"I forgot about that …" Ron admitted quietly.

"And Hermione never knew," Harry told in a whisper. "Witches and wizards have these amazing traditions, in tune with the earth. But even at Hogwarts, we celebrate Halloween instead of All-Hallows-Eve, Christmas instead of Yule and Easter instead of the Spring Equinox. All, for muggleborn and half-bloods not to feel left out."

"And you have a problem with that, why? My birthday is in September, my parents and I had time to come to terms with me being a witch. An entire year in fact. But what about people like you? Children with birthdays near September 1st get their feet knocked out from under them by being told that they have magic and then get taken away to learn control something that could possibly be lethal when unchecked. They need something familiar!"

Ron interjected, "And if these traditions were that important, the families of the purebloods would teach them to their kids anyway."

"But that's exactly the point," Draco now spoke up. "Being a 'pureblood' isn't feasible any longer. With two wars, the need for inbreeding would be too high, and despite producing powerful offspring, such gifts often come at a price."

"Like their sanity?"

Conceding to Hermione's point, she - above everybody else, bar Neville Longbottom - had the right to judge purebloods by their state of mind. "Or being able to give birth only under great strain and only once. Aunt Andromeda married a muggleborn and Nymphadora was an amazing witch; as is Edward, but I doubt that he understands the significance of a golden candle or a sprig of holly come December. Our traditions are dying because we have to bow to the majority of the witches and wizards who live today."

Looking back at Harry, Hermione wanted to know. "And you plan on changing that how?"

Smiling relieved, because finally, his friends looked more curious than irritated, the raven-haired revealed, "By eliminating the need for it."

Once again, she gave him a once-over before repeating with a nod, "Explain."

Serving another round of tea, Harry started, "The problem is not the traditions per se, but the reason we need them. The Statute of Secrecy is important, but we take it a step too far. Every person should be allowed to choose their religion, but even in elementary school we learn about different belief systems, other than the Anglican Church."

"You want to teach young witches and wizards our old traditions?" Ron asked somewhat sceptical.

"Yes. From the moment the children show the first signs of magic."

Ever the sensible one, Hermione shook her head. "You can't take a child away the moment he or she shows magic. The parents will never agree to that."

"That's exactly my point! We have to find a way to teach young witches and wizards, **without** taking them away. Maybe some form of Sunday school, or special play dates where children of pure-blood families and muggleborn can come together. A place where parents can come together just to talk, so they can learn that their child is special and not … not a freak."

"Mate," Ron put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, remembering all too clearly the hesitant and somewhat frightened boy he had met on the train nearly fifteen years ago. "That's a lot of change. How do you plan to achieve that?"

With a shrug, the raven-haired admitted, "I don't have a clue. That's why you are here." Looking at the smartest witch of their age, Harry prompted. "But I want for our kids to attend a school, where nobody even knows the meaning of the word 'mudblood'."

"That's not an easy task," Hermione pondered, looking from her friends to Draco and back at the two young men on either side of her. "But I might have an idea where to start."

Relieved, Harry sagged back into his chair. He had not realised until now, how much he had needed his best friends' approval in this. Now he felt drained but still put up a token-protest when Hermione ordered. "Now, you go back to bed or the office and I will do some research!"

−−O−O−−

The next time Harry opened his eyes, a huge, black man sat behind his desk. Reaching for his glasses, he pondered, "Am I hallucinating?"

Idly turning the page of his book, Draco did not even raise his eyes. "If you see Kingsley Shacklebolt sitting in your chair, waiting to be served tea, you are not delusional."

Pulling himself into a sitting position, winching ever so slightly, Harry inquired after a moment. "Why is the Minister of Magic sitting in my office?"

"Officially to check the state of health of one of my top Aurors," the black man replied.

"And unofficially?"

Finally looking up from some documents, Kingsley smiled and rose when the door opened, and Hermione came in with a tea-tray, followed by Ron who carried plates stacked high with sandwiches and biscuits. "Waiting for my tea, as Mr Malfoy has so eloquently stated."

"A tea," Draco drawled, "Miss Granger has apparently handpicked in China, considering that she needed nearly twenty minutes to prepare it."

Taking a cup, the Minister chuckled. "It was no bother to wait. I was able to entertain myself with some very interesting reports."

"And what are you thinking?" The young witch probed.

Pondering for a moment, the former Auror tilted his head. "That the person coming up with it might have the right ideas to move our society past ancient pride and prejudice. Still, it would take some truly exceptional witches and wizards to make it happen."

Draco offered a sandwich. "Regrettably, there are few of those around."

"Indeed." The Minister of Magic agreed, giving the golden trio a calculating look before returning his impromptu meal. "But a few might be enough."

\--O-O--

"You shared our plans?" Harry demanded to know, once Kingsley had left.

Having already returned to the desk, letting Ron and Draco care for the dishes, Hermione admitted. "You have ideas for some pretty drastic changes. Considering our political climate, I considered it wise to share our ideas with a friend before we enter the plotting phase."

"So, you invited a friend, to ask his opinion."

"Exactly."

"You still think it's a good idea?"

Putting down her quill, Hermione looked at her friend and stated decisively, "I think this might be the only way to save Britain from another war. In the past, it was always 'us' muggleborn or half-bloods versus 'them', the pureblood elite. I think when our children understand that we are all the same, they can pull wizarding Britain into the 21st century, be it kicking and screaming. Muggles are dangerous, their technology and weapons develop faster than their understanding of human behaviour. Just because our war happened after World War II does not mean that we can ignore the horrors of the genocide committed. After all, Tom was not that different from Hitler."

Swallowing around a constricting throat, the raven-haired asked, "Do you think something like that could happen to us?"

With a sigh, Hermione sank back in the chair, rubbing the bridge her nose. "Honestly, I think it has happened already. Tom's pureblood propaganda paved the way for a two-class-society. From there it's just a short way to the annihilation of one class. I don't know if we have learned enough as a race to keep that from happening, but … but that's too much. We can't solve all problems of our society immediately. Let's start with teaching our children a better way and hope that … I don't know." She gestured helplessly. "Things will become better from then on."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Looking up at her pale friend who - despite all hardships still tried so hard to make their world a better, a safer place - the young witch smiled and promised. "Always."

\--O-O--

"I will leave for the Manor right after breakfast," Harry stated the next morning.

Confused, Draco looked at the clock. "But Lovegood is supposed to be here any minute." Despite her quirks, the platinum witch was a part of Potter's Inner Circle and certainly would not like her friend endangering himself by travelling prematurely.

"Luna arrived ten minutes ago. She's in the garden, talking to her fairy friends." The raven-haired gestured towards the back-door.

Turning in his seat, the blond spotted the young witch between the rose-bushes. It was beyond him, how someone, so detached from reality, could be so successful in her line of work. "I don't think …" Draco started, trying to come up with an argument of why Harry should stay when Luna entered the kitchen. There would be hell to pay if the Auror had a relapse just because he was too stubborn to stay put!

Unexpectedly, Luna glimpsed at Harry when entering the kitchen and inquired, "Are you ready to go?"

Gesturing towards the food, Harry prompted, "Breakfast first, then we'll leave."

"You've already talked about this?" Draco accused.

Helping herself to some toast and honey, Luna shook her head. "Harry and I have not spoken since St. Mungos."

"Then how could you possibly …"

"He's wearing robes. So, we are going out. In private, Harry prefers muggle clothing."

Snapping his mouth shut, Draco reminded himself that Luna Lovegood was a Ravenclaw. It was too easy to underestimate her, with her forgiving nature and natural smiles. Still, underestimating someone's intelligence was dangerous. Draco had thought himself to have learned that particular lesson. Apparently, not all lectures of the war had stuck.

\--O-O--

Standing in front of the study of Malfoy Manor, Harry hesitated for a heartbeat. Looking at his friend, he pondered how to get her to leave. It was not that he had any secrets from Luna, he just …

"You know, I have not talked to the gargoyles since we have cleaned the house. I think right now they would enjoy my presence more than you."

With a smile, the raven-haired squeezed her fingers. "Thanks, Luna."

Turning towards the kitchen, the young witch reminded him of an afterthought. "It is hard for those in debt to us to speak their minds. Our voices are - more often than not - the first thing fear steals from us."

Gazing at the door, Harry pondered. "What do you think I should do?"

"Be honest and give Mr Malfoy the chance to do the same."

"What if … what if I can't take it? He was a Death Eater for so long. What if his redeeming quality is not enough for us to get along?"

"Then you should find someone else to advise you. Harry, you plan to change our world. You need people like Draco, Ron and Hermione by your side."

"Why Draco?"

"Because you trust him."

Thinking about that, Harry nodded. He did trust Draco Malfoy, despite their somewhat turbulent past. Hermione and Ron were … just them, reliable beyond the shadow of a doubt. But Draco, despite the faith Harry placed in him, would not be able to help with this new political agenda since the Saviour of Wizarding Britain had other - equally important - plans for him.

No, he needed Lucius Malfoy, because nobody played the political game better than the pureblood. If Harry wanted what was best for their world, he needed the best advisors available by his side. When he tried to offer his thanks, Luna was already gone. So, he entered Lucius' office after but one knock.

The former Lord shot to his feet, paling when facing his liege. Harry, however, was beyond caring for his vassal's sensibilities, so he claimed the chair facing him and stated, "Let me make one thing crystal clear: I hate the man you were, the Death Eater, the follower of a Dark Lord who cared but for blood status and arcane power."

Sinking back into his seat, wearied, the former Lord asked tonelessly, "Shall I await the arrival of the Aurors then?"

"What for?"

"To return me to Azkaban, of course. I can hardly expect you to …"

"Lucius!" Harry interrupted, prompting the other to snap to attention. He could see how much these last few days had cost the pureblood. Used to a master like Tom, Lucius had undoubtedly beaten himself up for every 'wrong' word, he had allowed himself in front of his liege. Terrified of the consequences his 'mistakes' might have for his family rather than himself. Not to add further strain, the raven-haired continued in a softer tone, "please, let me finish."

Tonelessly, the man replied, "Apologies, my Lord."

Too tired to correct the unwanted honorific, Harry continued, "Your wife, however, took her time to explain a few things to me."

With a strangled sob, Lucius interrupted once again, "Please, Master, Narcissa is …"

"Smarter than the both of us!" Talking over the man, Harry shot him an angry look. "Listen, Lucius, I need you, someone with your experience and your knowledge of how to further a new political agenda. But I am afraid that I can't work with you, as long as I am not convinced that I can trust you."

Waiting for a heartbeat, Lucius beseeched when his liege seemed to wait for his reply, "I am at your service. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. I will do everything in my power to support you!"

"Because you believe in me, or because you don't have a choice?" The young man asked quietly, raising his hand before his opponent could offer the reply he knew his master wanted to hear. "See, that's the problem. With your son, whatever task I set him upon, I can trust him to do the right thing. Draco has faith in my motives but has never had a problem to call me out on a stupid idea." The raven-haired could not help but chuckle at the horrified gaze of the father. "That's what we do, Draco and me. We worked together, or against each other, but we always see eye to eye. But you and I … here is where it gets complicated. I know that you would put all of your efforts into furthering my agenda. But, I could never be sure, if you're convinced that we do what's right. That, however, is exactly what I need right now: people who will help me, who believe that we do what's best for the wizarding world."

Starring at the young wizard who had saved them all, out of the goodness of his heart and more courage than anyone could expect, Lucius lowered his eyes and whispered, "I am sorry, my Lord." Because what else was there to say? The Dark Lord had expected blind obedience, right from the beginning. And though the pureblood had had some pretty solid views on several topics, he knew that he had adjusted them when Voldemort had expected him to. Now Harry wanted … not exactly the opposite, but a conviction Lucius was not sure he could muster. Still, he could try. "Harry, I …"

But once more, the raven-haired interrupted him. "Don't, please. Don't tell me what I want to hear. That won't help." Closing his eyes, against the raising fatigue, Harry staggered to his feet. "Let's return to Grimmauld Place. I'm sure Draco is running in circles already. I can take a nap, and you can review Hermione's first draft. Then we can talk."

\--O-O--

The platinum-blond watched his son wrapping his arms around Potter's waist to keep the young man from stumbling. The pureblood flinched when he heard a hissed, "Idiot!" before his son called out, "Kreacher" and demanded, "Put him to bed. I will fetch his potions and be up in a moment."

However, instead of berating and punishing his former rival and current servant for the insult, their master steadied himself and recalled exhausted, "You are not allowed …"

"Alright," Draco mumbled dejectedly. "The study then … please."

Nodding tiredly, Harry took Kreacher's hand and vanished at the snap of the elf's fingers. Rubbing his face, equally drained, Draco started to collect the notes he had spread over the coffee table. "You should get some rest, father. Lunch will be served around one."

"How …," Lucius started, rubbing the bridge of his nose, to sort out his jumbled thoughts. "I have some reading to do. I don't have time to rest. And what were you thinking of insulting him? Need I remind you, that we are entirely dependent on his goodwill?"

Sighing, picking up his materials, the blond pointed out, "I swore to serve him, and I do so to the best of my ability. Just like you taught me. But I am not a mindless puppet. If Potter behaves like an idiot, I will call him out on it." Looking at the book he was studying, the young blond shrugged. "Not that it's of any concern to him …"

Confused Lucius followed his son, who pulled the armchair closer to the transfigured chaise and used the small side-table to hold his notes. The man watched Draco administer the necessary potions before covering the protesting patient with a blanket. "Do you want me to get Luna?" He threatened half-hearted when Harry attempted to free himself from the quilt.

Leaving the blanket alone reluctantly, Harry instructed Lucius, "Hermione made a first draft. Kingsley has looked over it already. We know what we want. We are just not sure of how to achieve it."

Having already spotted the papers, the pureblood claimed the seat and started to gather an overview.

\--O-O--

Narcissa's hand on his shoulder made the pureblood look up from the law-book he had been leaving through. About to ask if everything was alright, he was silenced by a delicate finger brushing over his lips, then she pointed at the fireplace. As expected, Harry was fast asleep again; unexpectedly, so was Draco. At one point, Luna had returned from her conversation with the Gargoyles. She had not only claimed Draco's armchair but his potions book as well and was studying it serenely. Their son had chosen a place on the floor; his notes spread haphazardly around him. Nevertheless, he seemed to have lost his fight against the siren's song of sleep and was leaning back against the impromptu bed, snoring quietly. Harry's arm that tended to dangle down the chaise was wrapped around him from behind, keeping Draco from slipping to the floor by offering his shoulder as a cushion.

Cognisant of them being watched, Luna made a note and stored it in the hefty tome while deciding. "We should eat. I think they will sleep for a while and will be satisfied with leftovers." Then she rose and looked at the Malfoys expectantly.

With a gentle tilt of her head, Narcissa stepped back and allowed her husband to lead her to lunch. The boys … young men slept far into the afternoon and were happy with the cold chicken sandwiches Luna served them for tea.

\--O-O--

Two more days of resting, with Draco more or less sitting on him and the Malfoys working from Grimmauld Place did all of them some good. Due to the frequent naps, the blond managed to grab by Harry's side, and Lucius being given a chance to prove his devotion, the two Malfoys seemed less drawn and fearful whenever they were around their liege.

Narcissa, however, was another matter entirely. Her continuing failure to bend the carpet to her will wore on her self-esteem.

"I have not managed to add Sirius’ name for more than four years. Do not worry too much, Narcissa. Powerful Black-family-magic cast him out. I guess we are not strong enough to match that."

Though Harry's words were meant to soothe her, the Lady Malfoy, née Black, could see the pain of her cousin's absence from the family-tree caused the young man. Her sister had taken this boy's last family member from him. The least she could do was help him honour Sirius' memory. Still, she was fresh out of ideas, so she gave the tapestry one last glare and agreed, "Maybe".

Maybe they were not strong enough, but she was not willing to give up yet.

\--O-O--

"I can't even begin to tell you how fucking angry I am." Harry spat out, only to mumble reflexively, "Apologies, Sir." He always tried to mind his manners, since the man in the bed certainly would not tolerate anything less were he awake.

"I mean …" pulling his legs up on the windowsill, the raven-haired pressed his head to his knees. Today was the first day he had been up and about, despite a brief rest after lunch. Hermione and Ron, as well as Neville and Luna, had joined them for dinner and afterwards, they had discussed Harry's ideas for the integration of muggleborn into their society from an early age. Regrettably, Lucius - in an attempt to prove his trustworthiness - had played devil's advocate, pointing out the legal flaws of every plan Harry had put on the table. On the one hand, he had been delighted to hear the pureblood contradict him, something the former Death Eater would not have done with Tom. On the other hand, it was beyond frustrating.

"It's like the wizarding world has done absolutely everything to preserve their traditions, fighting tooth and nail against any form of progress. Muggles have done so many amazing things in the last ten years alone. Do you know how much knowledge you have at the tips of your fingers if you own something as mundane as a personal computer? Muggle children could teach their pureblood counterparts the most amazing things if they would. Just. Listen!"

Kicking the wall, Harry guiltily cast a Reparo when stucco rained down on him. "It's just … I understand why the old families are so reluctant. Salem was a page out of every witch or wizard's worst nightmare. And they knew about the old traditions then; were stronger for it. But I think it's either total secrecy or total disclosure, and humankind is not ready for the later. I wish we could … maybe some kind of kindergarten would help. Or shared elementary school where all children learn about mundane subjects like math, biology and history, while at the same time discovering the old rituals and find out about the amazing magic that surrounds us every day."

Looking at the patient, who lay unmoving, Harry gave in to the illusion that he was listening attentively. So, he slipped from the windowsill and claimed his armchair. "Albion … Great Britain … it is as if the light magic permeates every living thing; every tree, every plant, every beast that calls the white isle his or her home. In India, you can taste the magic in the air. A snake I befriended, told me she could even feel it in her belly when she slithered over the earth. Magic wasn't dark there, but it wasn't light either. I could not put my finger on it, but it felt … kind of … reddish brown. Like the power came from the life that populates the land. Brazil …"

The young wizard chuckled and pulled his legs under himself, relaxing into the chair. "The magic in South America is as dark as it comes. But it was not evil, like Tom, just … dark. Like a blanket that covers everything and blocks out the sun. It was powerful, but warm and soothing at times; violent at others but that's not different from light magic. I wish … I wish I could make the people understand that there is so much more to magic than meets the eye. The rites and rituals that bind our cores to our land; there is so much more to all of it than the flick and swish of a wand. But it's as if, for all wizards, it is either the old way of ignorance and isolation or the loss of their traditions. So, they fight tooth and nail. They don't understand what is out there and the muggleborn and half-bloods aren't even taught that."

Looking at the man who had not moved in nearly half a decade, Harry tousled his hair agitated and whispered, "There has to be a way because we can't go on like we are. That's simply not acceptable." He was talking about more than the state of Wizarding Britain, but his patient was not able to offer any reply, another situation the young man found unacceptable, but had no idea how to change.

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never before had anybody present seen binding magic at work. It appeared to gather around Kreacher, pressing into him from all sides. It did not feel painful, but every witch and wizard in the room felt the potential for it to become exactly that. No wonder elves preferred to punish themselves if this was the alternative. Kreacher squirmed for several minutes, fighting against the overwhelming force until he vanished with an audible 'pop'.  
> Confused, Harry looked at the others. "Is he supposed to be able to do that?"  
> Slowly, Narcissa shook her head. "I do not think so."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a crooked smile, Harry looked up and asked, "Have I said, 'thank you' yet?"  
> Narcissa shook her head. "Not yet."  
> "Thank you, Narcissa."  
> "You're welcome, Harry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have to leave you with a nasty cliffhanger with this chapter, but otherwise, it would have gotten too long. I hope you enjoy what is happening in the meantime.

Saturday morning the following week brought Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin back to Grimmauld Place. Teddy had insisted that it was 'his' weekend, and while he had understood that Harry could not entertain any strenuous activities, due to his recent injury, the boy had not been willing to give up his time with his godfather entirely. Teddy had brought tons of games and drawing materials so that they could have fun indoors. Being the well-behaved child that he was, he had taken to polishing all of Harry's stone amulets in the afternoon, painting an assorted few in assorted colours, while his godfather slept on the carpet in front of the fireplace, where they had been halfway through a geography lesson. Harry had enjoyed taking the time to tell Teddy about his time in India and his friend the snake.

When Andromeda came to call them to dinner, Teddy had been curled up on the small of the other wizard's back, snoring subdued. With a quiet chuckle, the witch had picked up a piece of parchment and had just started to weave a spell, when a muffled voice stated indignantly, "If you take a picture of me in such an unbecoming position, I will sue you."

Finishing her spell, smiling at the photographic evidence of her grandson's adoration for his godfather, the elderly witch replied unperturbed, "You can't afford to sue me, Harry Potter." She had become aware of the muggle technique of expressing someone's ire when Harry had uttered the empty threat the first time, a drooling Teddy chewing on his robe making an adorable picture for the child's photo album. In her opinion, nothing beat a swift hex to make one's displeasure known. Still, she had begun to enjoy their little game, so she always replied appropriately.

Slowly rolling on the floor, the raven-haired gently woke his godson, who seemed to have an enjoyable dream, since his hair changed through all the colours of the rainbow. "I could, you know. I'm very well off."

Kneeling next to the two wizards, Andromeda straightened first Teddy's and then Harry's hair and replied with a smile, "I am not talking about the money."

Leaning ever so slightly into the touch, the young man admitted. "You're right." Then he looked at the clock. "I'm sorry for falling asleep."

"Don't be," the witch replied, taking the young boy's hand. "Teddy seemed to enjoy himself, but now prepare yourself for dinner." Looking at the pink-haired boy, she decided, "We will wash off this paint, and you, Harry, can go upstairs to change."

"Alright," Teddy beamed, already skipping out the door towards the downstairs bathroom.

"Alright," Harry parroted, bounding up the stairs to the third floor.

Shaking her head at these antics, Andromeda followed at a much more sedated pace.

\--O-O--

"No, the law states that, up to the age of eleven, the parent or guardian is solely responsible for the charges education," Lucius repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

And Harry was happy with that, at least he told himself so again and again and again. The pureblood had a profound knowledge of the ways of the wizarding world and was doing his best to apply that knowledge according to his liege's intentions. Regrettably, the laws of their world did not work in accordance with Harry's wishes. Aware of the young man's frustration, the former Lord offered suggestions of how to bend their rules in their favour - unethical as that might be - after endless days of constant plotting without going anywhere. By now the Saviour of the Wizarding World was sorely tempted to take Lucius up on that offer.

"Why is that of any concern? It is not like the laws are at fault." Andromeda wanted to know, before reaching for her grandson to help him prick his crème brûlée. "Like that, love, just a brief tap!" She smiled when Teddy dug into his favourite dessert. Only when she looked up, did she realise that everybody was staring at her. "Yes?"

"We are trying to work for a better future. A future where children like Teddy are not discriminated because of their parent's race." Harry countered confused. He had thought that of all people, Andromeda Tonks would understand the importance of changing their laws. "Do you not want that for him?"

At least he seemed confused, but Andromeda could see faint hurt beneath his initial reaction. He believed himself without backup by someone he had trusted implicitly, and the former Black sister felt the absurd impulse to chuckle because nothing could be further from the truth. She would always have the young man's back, not because of how much he had sacrificed, but because of who he was: a good person at heart, despite all the hardships he had suffered. Sometimes that meant acting like a friend, sometimes like a mother. But at times like these, it meant merely pointing him in the right direction when he had tangled himself up in so many knots, that he could not see what was important. "Of course, I want that, Harry. I understand and support your plans unquestioningly. What I don't understand, is why you are so concerned with the laws when you should concentrate on the people."

Trading glances with Lucius and Hermione, Harry admitted, "I don't understand."

Taking the napkin, he offered, she brushed over Teddy's chin and explained. "Every guardian is responsible for their charges education."

"Yes," Lucius confirmed. "Be that home-schooling, a private or a shared tutor."

A slow smile of understanding lit up Hermione's face when she picked up the train of thought. "So, if we manage to convince the parents, the Ministry won't even get involved, except if we request public funding."

"Exactly," Andromeda confirmed. "It is not about the laws. It is about the people!" She felt more than saw her sister freezing by her side. Looking at her with worry, the oldest noticed her mouthing, "It is not about the law, it is about the people. It's about family!"

Slowly rising from her chair, Narcissa shook her head as if waking from a dream. "Dromeda, would you …

"Could you and Teddy please join me? Draco, you too." Her voice had a dreamlike quality common only with Luna. Worried for her baby-sister, Andromeda pushed back her chair and took her grandson by the hand.

\--O-O--

Narcissa seemed lost in thought, pacing in a room Andromeda had not set foot in, in a very long time. While her Aunt Walburga had been alive, entrance to her sanctum had only been granted on the rarest of occasions. The day she had come into her magic, she had been brought here by her father, to watch the leaf with her name bloom on the magic carpet. Her leaf was still there, though her name was cut open. Her aunt had not approved of her marriage with a muggle. Remembering her husband, the elderly smiled to herself, not regretting the decision for a heartbeat. Narcissa's name was as pristine as ever; it only had a reddish tint to it, she could not identify. Sirius Black's name, however, glared through its absence. The oldest witch could see the charcoal edges where the carpet had been burned, but the cloth where his name ought to be was a plain green space, pristine and unharmed. Concentrating on her agitated sister, she handed Teddy off to Draco, who promptly picked up his cousin, watching his mother wearily.

Andromeda intercepted her sister's path, placing comforting hands on Narcissa's shoulders. "Cissy, what's wrong?"

Angrily, the woman pointed at the carpet. "That! That's wrong! Aunt Walburga cast out her son, just because she did not agree with his choices. Not because he had done something unforgivable like harming a member of the family, but because he’s a Gryffindor! Sirius was loyal, just to the wrong family and his godson suffers for it!"

Turning towards the carpet, the older woman slowly started to connect the dots. "Sirius is not part of the family, so Harry can't be either … not in the eyes of magic, never mind that his claim is entirely legal." It all made sense now. All the times Harry had spent on erecting new wards. The begrudging acceptance of the house elf that refused to call him 'Master'.

"I claimed responsibility for the family-tree, by word and blood and magic. Though no matter what I tried, Sirius’ name would not take hold." Narcissa explained. "All the time, I thought I was too weak. That Walburga simply had been so much stronger than me when she had cast her magic. It made sense, since I did not even have a wand but maybe … maybe I had it wrong from the beginning. Maybe it is not about the strength of the magic …"

"… but about the people wielding it."

Looking at Draco and Teddy, Andromeda pondered. "Teddy is only a quarter of Black blood, Draco is half Malfoy, but we …"

"The blood of the Black-family is running through our veins, for better or for worse."

Coming forth, joining his mother and aunt in front of the carpet, Draco slowly set Teddy down. "You hope that two and three-quarters will be enough."

Resigned, his mother shrugged. "It has to be because I don't know what else to try."

Looking at the grown-ups, the young boy inquired. "Is Harry sad because Sirius has no leaf?"

Crouching down beside her nephew, Narcissa took the child's hand. "Yes, Teddy, Harry is very sad because of Sirius' missing leaf. Will you help me make it better?"

"With magic?"

"Yes, with magic," his aunt confirmed.

Looking at his shoes, toeing the carpet, Teddy admitted quietly. "I'm not good at magic. I can't even make light."

Surprised, Narcissa asked, "How can you say that? I have seen you change your hair a dozen times today."

"Yes, but that's not real magic. That's just me."

"How do you do it?" The witch inquired, realising that her nephew needed a little boost of confidence before he could help them effectively.

Glancing up, the boy shrugged. "I don't know. I just want it to happen, and it does."

Caressing his head, smiling when his hair turned white-blond, Narcissa assured him, "That is very powerful magic, Teddy. That's the only thing that magic is really about. Do you know what 'intent' means?"

Looking at his grandmother, Teddy replied, "To really want something."

"Exactly," his aunt smiled proudly, and tentatively her nephew returned the expression. "If I tell you the words, Teddy, can you really want them to come true?"

Marring his bottom lip with his teeth, Teddy repeated, "For Harry?"

"For Harry!"

"What should I say?"

"Ex eo die, Sirius Black familia denuo est pars. Sic dicimus. Sic fiat semper."

When Teddy's chin began to wobble, and tears sprung to his eyes, Narcissa had to fight down the urge to hug and comfort him, since she did not know if such a gesture would be appreciated. Helplessly, she looked at her sister. "What's wrong?"

Caressing her grandson's head soothingly, Andromeda revealed, "He'll never get it right in Latin, and he knows that it's the words that hold power."

"But …" True, languages were powerful and Latin the most versatile to suit the European witches and wizards' needs. However, chances were good that Andromeda was right, so … "We'll try alone then."

"But … but … but I want to help Harry," Teddy wailed until Draco shouldered past the two women.

"For Merlin's sake." The blond grumbled. ">From this day forth, Sirius Black shall be part of the family again. So we say. So mote it be.< That's all there is to the spell. Can you remember that?"

Cleaning his nose with his sleeve, Teddy nodded. However, after a moment of pondering, he injected, "But how will it work if it's not even a real spell."

Rolling his eyes, Draco revealed. "It's the exact same thing we say. The language is just different. It's all about really wanting it, remember? You just have to believe for it to come true. Like with your hair. It is as easy as that."

Looking at his grandmother questioningly, Andromeda nodded. "Our dragon is right. Magic is all about intent. So, if you want it enough, these words will work just fine."

Pulling out his training-wand, Teddy turned to face the carpet, mouthing the words, before nodding determined, "For Harry."

Twisting her wrist, letting her own wand fall into her hand, Andromeda nodded at her sister. Narcissa admitted somewhat reluctantly. "Neither Draco nor I have a wand, so we will try a blood-sacrifice instead."

"Actually," Harry piped up from the door, where he had hovered with Hermione, Ron and Lucius. But before he could continue, his best friend squeezed past him and held out his wand to the young Malfoy. "Take mine."

"What?" The pure-blood gazed down thunderstruck. Never, in a thousand years, had Draco ever imagined someone willingly handing over his wand to him, least of all Ronald Weasley.

"It's willow and unicorn hair," Ron informed him, putting his wand into Draco's hand. "It is not yours, but for this one spell it will work because we both want it to."

Dazed, Draco closed his hands around the offering and shut his eyes. It was not the comforting feeling of his Hawthorn wand, but something was there … their cores were identical … it was enough for him to know that Weasley was right.

Beside him, Hermione traded Teddy's training-wand with her own. "It's vine wood with a dragon heartstring. Very attuned to emotions. If you want this spell to work, my wand will make it come true."

Breathless, the boy touched the white wood, looking at it with reverence before closing his fingers around it. After a moment, he asked haltingly, "But afterwards, I will get mine back. Right?"

With a firm nod, the young witch confirmed. "Of course. I will take good care of it in the meantime."

Behind them, the Lady Malfoy was not as easily convinced to take something that was not hers. "Blood will work, Harry. You don't have to …"

"Narcissa," the raven-haired wizard interrupted gently. "Don't you think I know how many hours you have put into this? Don't you think that I am aware of the amount of needlework and blood you have given? I have been out of ideas of how to make this happen since before you came and now you have reached the same point. You need all the power you can get for this to work. This wand battled the Dark Lord the day of his resurrection and rose to the challenge. I even managed to repair it with the Elder Wand after it was broken. It's the best shot we've got and you know it!"

Reluctantly, Narcissa nodded and reached for the unassuming holly-wand. Compared to hers it seemed crude; a handle of rough wood instead of sophisticated carvings. Her eyes flickered towards Lucius, who still hovered at the door. Only at his encouraging nod did she close her hand around the handle and knew. Knew that this was not her wand. Knew that it would work for her nevertheless. Knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that this was her best shot.

Either this would work, with her sister and her son and her nephew by her side, or her cousin Sirius would forever be banned from the family. Looking into the young Harry Potter's eyes, she slowly pulled the wand from his fingers. Failure was not an option.

Gazing at her son, Draco seemed to mirror her conviction and - to a certain degree - so did Andromeda. Teddy was the cutest, glaring at the carpet as if ready to go to battle with it. "On three," Narcissa commanded, and her sister started counting.

"One."

"Two." Draco took place by her side.

"Three!" She finished, in time with their heartbeats, all aiming at the empty space where Sirius name ought to be. In one voice they chanted.

"Ex eo die, Sirius Black famlia denuo est pars. Sic dicimus. Sic fiat semper."

For the blink of an eye, nothing happened, then Teddy Lupin finished his incantation with the traditional words, "So mote it be!"

As soon as the last syllable had left his mouth, magic started to congeal in the room, making it hard to breathe. The power they had conjured, combined with the countless useless attempts of Harry and Narcissa before them, sunk into the fabric. It felt like their spell was fighting with the intricate magic of the carpet and, on instinct, Narcissa reached behind herself when it peaked. Offering the spool with the golden thread she had used so liberally before; the power seemed to reach out for it, making it dance within her grip. After a few moments, the thread began to unravel and wave into the green carpet, forming leaf that simply read 'Sirius'.

For a few moments, nobody dared to utter a single word. Narcissa and Harry barely drew breath, being all too familiar with Walburga's volatile magic, that had burned her son's name numerous times before. Then Harry exhaled wetly, covering his mouth when a sob tore out. Tears sprang to his eyes when he choked, "Oh my god … it worked." Reaching for the Lady, clawing at her arm, he sobbed, "Narcissa, … it worked!" And then … magic happened.

Before their very eyes, a new leaf began to grow, rising from the same stem as Sirius', connected both to the branch of the tree as well as the other man's. It got bigger and bigger and when it unrolled it simply read >Harry Potter<.

Harry's cry was drowned by a powerful shuddering that went through the building. Magic rippled over every surface, the furniture, the carpet, the very walls that surrounded them. Unexpectedly things began to change: The black, ancient wood of the beams on the ceiling and the furniture seemed to develop a new sheen and an ever so slightly golden hue. Tread bare edges of dark green fabric tinted burgundy, combining most tastefully the characteristics of both Slytherin and Gryffindor. The changes gave the room a warm and homey feeling, and when turning around, they noticed the same changes taking place everywhere. It felt like, despite Harry's best efforts in the past, Number 12 Grimmauld Place had only now become his home.

Taking everything in, closing his eyes against the overflowing emotions, the last descendant of the Potter and now Black family swayed unsteadily on his feet, until Narcissa confirmed quietly, "Yes, Harry, it worked." Then he broke down.

Pulling the boy into her arms, the Lady barely noticed Andromeda ushering everyone out. Gracefully, she sank to the floor, relaxing against the now mended carpet, holding Harry tight when he sobbed in her arms. Narcissa could not understand the babbling that was occasionally interrupted by hiccups. Yet she thought to recognise names like 'Sirius', 'Dumbledore', 'Snape' and 'mum and dad'. He talked about a cursed tree at Hogwarts and Peter Pettigrew; about prophecies and the grim, magic stones and trice damned stubborn house-elves. After a long while, Harry had slowly started to wind down and only breathed wetly on occasion, the air around them began to thicken again, seeping into Harry who got very still in her arms. Then, all of a sudden, every last snake embellishment, the Black family had seemed so fond of, reared its head and hissed.

Even the carpet underneath them began to move, prompting Narcissa to scramble back. Harry, however, remained seated on the floor, looking around in awe, slowly rubbing the tears out of his eyes. He hissed something, and the Lady Malfoy felt uncomfortably reminded of the Dark Lord. Then, however, the young man said something else, gently brushing over the snake-designs that had been carved into the couch table. And though it made no sense whatsoever, because Narcissa had never been able to understand parse tongue, she sensed the young man's words to be soothing. With Voldemort, the snake language had always sound vicious, even cruel at times. But when Harry used it, it was different, less unsettling, that was certain.

The snakes retreated and stilled; then the young man looked up. "They say that I am their master." Then it clicked.

With a smile, the Lady chose a place on the sofa and shared her theory. "You are the first Parselmouth in the family for generations. I think that the snakes are nothing but a physical manifestation of the wards that protect this house. I assume it will be the same with all Black estates."

"Estates? As in more than one?"

Chuckling, Narcissa shook her head. "Of course, more than one. The Blacks are an ancient family, nearly as wealthy as the Malfoys. Or did you think that this old house was the only thing you inherited?"

Pulling his legs under himself, Harry looked around apprehensively. "Well … yes, to be honest."

"Aunt Walburga preferred to live in London, but there is a nice cottage near Eastbourne. And another one on the Isle of Skye, because Uncle Orion always said that the key to a good marriage was the chance of living apart if one so chose. Also, he was not a great fan of the summer scene of Southern England. I have visited her a few times. Aunt Walburga's summer home might not be as big as Grimmauld Place, but it is a little nicer there. Bigger windows that look out over the sea. Uncle Orion's house I have never seen. I think he never was fond of us kids. But, what about the Potter estates? I know your father hated the grandeur and formality that came with growing up in pure-blood society, but apart from the house he bought for your mother in Godric's Hollow, you must have inherited at least one."

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "I never went. It was easier to adapt the wards of this place than to find another. It's not as if I could afford to spread my magic. We have all become very good at wards, especially Hermione. But I never wanted to jump from one location to the other. It seems like an unnecessary risk. There are still people out there to get me."

Straightening her skirt, Narcissa admitted, "That might be the reason your father preferred the property in Godric's Hollow. He warded it from Merlin to Morgana and back again. Just to keep his family safe."

Would it have made a difference had his parents stayed at an estate? Would ancient wards have protected them all? At least then nobody would have been able to rat them out. A Fidelius could be applied to anything. "It did not do them any good in the end …" Harry resigned, tousling his hair. "They all died because the protection was not good enough."

"Come here, love." Narcissa held out her hand for him and pulled him down to the sofa. "You have to understand a few things, Harry. Ancient wards are almost always stronger than new ones, but the Fidelius Charm is the strongest protection there is. Your father did everything in his power to keep you and your mother safe. Peter Pettigrew was not an evil man; he was just weak. Our Lord … Tom," she corrected herself after a moment, "was terrifying and not many people were brave enough to stand up to him. Your parents were exceptional, as was your godfather. Peter Pettigrew was just … normal."

"You stood up to him!" Harry interrupted. "You never took the mark!"

"Because he never offered," She corrected him. "The Dark Mark was said to be an honour, but the truth was, for most of us it was a lash … shackles he used to bind us to him. Don't think my son weak because he bears it, Harry. Voldemort forced him, holding Lucius and me hostage in case Draco even thought about refusing him."

"So, had Draco not agreed, Tom had threatened to kill you?"

"Before his very eyes."

"I understand fear," the 'Chosen One' admitted. "But I don't understand cowardice."

"Maybe because you're a Gryffindor."

"Pettigrew was a Gryffindor too!"

"And from what I have heard, he was courageous in his protectiveness of his werewolf friend."

After a moment of contemplation, Harry whispered. "Severus is … was … a Slytherin."

"And lied to our Lord's face for nearly two decades before he was killed. Courage, cunning or cowardice are no exclusive traits for any house."

Rubbing his face, the young wizard complained. "Why does everything have to be so bloody complicated?"

"Because this is life. It is joyous and painful and real." Narcissa replied softly, caressing the raven-haired's head. "You have claimed a name today, along with everything it entitles. Be happy about that and leave the rest for tomorrow."

With a crooked smile, Harry looked up and asked, "Because of you. Have I said, 'thank you' yet?"

Handing back his wand, Narcissa shook her head. "Not yet."

"Thank you, Narcissa."

"You're welcome, Harry."

\--O-O--

When they went downstairs again, Hermione and Ron were upon him in an instant. Harry looked helplessly at his friends when the young witch strangled him with her hug. But the redhead just smiled and enveloped both of them in his arms. "Alright … alright! Air!"

Sheepish his friends let go, and then Harry turned to the side and mirrored their gesture with the youngest Malfoy. For a few moments, the blond hesitated, but then he gingerly wrapped his arms around the other wizard. When they pulled apart, Draco's eyes seemed glued to the floor, faint red colouring his cheeks. Grateful that the others were giving them some space, Harry pulled the other man aside and cast a privacy spell before tilting Draco's head so that he could catch the blond's eyes. Reluctantly they were met.

Seriously, the raven-haired stated. "What you did today … I don't think I can ever express how much that means to me. But maybe, I can give you an idea. If you wish, I will consider your debt paid in full."

At that, Draco's eyes went impossibly wide, and his hands turned to ice. Shivering, he pulled back from Harry's grasp, stating tonelessly. "You want me to leave. You …"

To stave off the rising panic Harry could see in the other's eyes, he took Draco's face between his hands and ordered, "Breathe! In … and out … in … and out … very good. Calm down, please, that's not at all what I was trying to say."

After the other wizard had taken a few calming breathes, he clarified, "I am offering, Draco. I am not forcing anything on you. I want to reward you for services rendered."

"Don't send me back," Draco whispered. "I'll … I will … you … please. Do not make me return to the Manor. I can't live there … I just can't."

Pulling the blond into his arms once again, Harry promised, "For however long you want, you will have a place here, I promise you that."

Apparently, that was the right reply, since Draco sagged in Harry's arms and after a few minutes, they were able to return to the others.

\--O-O--

Since Andromeda and Teddy had left not long after, the remaining adults retreated to the living-room, to enjoy a glass of wine, Harry had unearthed from the cellar. Well, this was the second bottle he had retrieved since the first one had turned out to be vinegar.

Playing with her empty glass before setting it on the table, Hermione inquired while relaxing against her husband. "When do you plan to confront Kreacher? Now that you are the head of the Black-family, he owes you allegiance until you set him free."

Smiling because his best friend, as always, elected to ignore the possibility of selling an elf, Harry stated, "I'm not offering him clothes again. The last time I tried, he did not speak to me for a week and used not a single grain of salt or sugar in my meals for a month."

Chuckling, the young witch shook her head. "I wasn't suggesting that; he is just so weird since your accident. I thought maybe you wanted to ask him what is wrong finally and get an actual answer."

Rising on his elbows from where he had relaxed on the carpet - he loved that carpet, red and gold and black suited the room so much better than the dull grey colour scheme it had had before - Harry tousled his unruly strands. "You know, that might even work. I guess it all depends on how I voice my questions."

"Don't sound so surprised," Ron glared, throwing a pillow at his best friend. "Everything Hermione says works, and we both know it."

Supporting himself with the pillow, the raven-haired rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant." He defended himself, but at the same time was pleased with his words, since Hermione's eyes lit up with such unbound love for her husband.

He thought about the elf. How absent Kreacher had been these last few weeks, but not in the same way as before, where Harry could spot him doing his self-appointed tasks, muttering insults under his breath. These days he was simply gone, except mealtimes, since Molly providing them with food seemed to have hit a nerve. Harry had never particularly liked Kreacher, not with the way he had insulted his godfather at every turn. Nor had he disliked him, especially after the elf had started to take care of him after renovation. Kreacher was just … a constant in Harry's life. Like the painting of Walburga, or the continually creaking hinges of the entrance door. Determined to resolve this situation, the young wizard called out, "Kreacher!"

Popping into existence right in front of him, the elf seemed to fight with himself for a moment, wringing his hands nervously in a way that reminded Harry uncomfortably of Dobby, before shuddering and bowing deep. "Master."

The collective exhales of the Malfoy family made the golden trio snicker before they returned their attention towards the elf, who had used the distraction to inch closer to the door. Sitting up, Harry put himself at the same height as his servant when he asked, "What am I, Kreacher?"

Still wringing his hands, the elf avoided his eyes when replying, "Sir is Harry Potter, head of the Potter family, head of the Black family, Master of the house."

"Good," the young wizard nodded. "Now, as Master of this house, I order you to be open and honest with me at all times. I demand you tell me the truth at any given time and not try to avoid or to omit any information about myself, my guests, my family and friends, you of course, or anything that is going on, on any of my properties you have any knowledge of. Do you understand what I expect of you?"

"Kreacher understands," the elf replied tonelessly.

"And will you heed these rules?"

Dejected, the little guy replied, "Kreacher has no choice but to, Master."

"Great." Looking up at his friends, especially at Hermione who nodded encouragingly, Harry demanded, "Now I want you to tell me what the fuck is going on! Something happened the day of my accident, and I want to know what is wrong with you!"

"Nothing is wrong with Kreacher, Master!" The elf replied relieved. "Me found shelter in the stove in the kitchen. Kreacher was never harmed."

"Kreacher?"

"Yes, Master?"

"You are omitting something." The young wizard stated very quietly, never getting up, never trying to lord over his servant. Harry just sat there, willing to wait his elf out.

Never before had anybody present seen binding magic at work. It appeared to gather around Kreacher, pressing into him from all sides. It did not feel painful, but every witch and wizard in the room felt the potential for it to become exactly that. No wonder elves preferred to punish themselves if this was the alternative. Kreacher squirmed for several minutes, fighting against the overwhelming force until he vanished with an audible 'pop'.

Confused, Harry looked at the others. "Is he supposed to be able to do that?"

Slowly, Narcissa shook her head. "I do not think so."

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Do you think it will ever get any easier?" Harry asked after a while.  
> Chuckling wetly, Hermione shook her head, safe in the comfortable embrace of her two best friends. "Definitely not."  
> "It will!" Ron assured her, kissing her forehead.  
> Harry could not tell if his best friend really believed in what he said, or if he merely tried to sooth his wife. But in the end, it did not matter, because their girl would not have it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry had never considered himself a particularly religious person. Of course, the Dursleys had gone to church on occasion. But since he had been locked in his cupboard at the time, he had had trouble considering their actions as an act of faith or altruism. Aunt Petunia's charity work had only ever been motivated by elevating herself above those who had less.  
> After Hogwarts and magic and Horcrux versus Hallows, Harry had troubles reconciling everything that had happened with the picture of an arbitrary god, that guided everyone's fate. Also, it was easier not to believe in an almighty, divine power that allowed a baby to lose his parents and then be abused, in what was supposed to be his home for ten consecutive years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like, with this chapter, a more detailed note is necessary. Usually, I try to spare you any chit-chat, since you come here to read a story, and not hear about my private life. If you are interested in me, my projects and my thoughts, find me on tumblr. I'm Anchanee there too and would be delighted to talk to each and every one of you. But I feel the Archive is just for fiction. This chapter, however, needs a little disclaimer.  
> Harry's views on the divine, reflect in no way my own. Religion and beliefs are always a very sensitive topic that easily offends. That, however, is in no way my intention. Though I consider myself Catholic, I consider many forms of religions valid (no matter the name they give their deity, be it Buddha, Allah or anything else), as long as they intend people to be kind to each other and help those in need. I think that at times even the smallest things can help a person along, sometimes it only takes a smile, an open door, or bringing coffee to a colleague who is really stressed out. Whatever you believe in, I think it is perfectly right if it helps you to feel loved and protected, even (or especially) when you go through a hard time.  
> For Harry, things are different. He does not WANT (or can) believe in god, and after all, that has happened to him, especially in the magic world, I thought this the most 'logical' reaction. I know he uses a very 'cliché' explanation to argue god away, but please just roll with it.  
> If you would like to discuss this, come and find me on tumblr (as mentioned above) or just message me here. But please, I try to be respectful, so I expect the same courtesy from you.  
> Now, I hope you can enjoy this chapter after the heavy introduction. Remember, in the end, it's only fanfic, meant to entertain and be appreciated, and us authors and our faithful beta-readers, on the Archive, provide it for free.

A few moments later, the door to the living-room creaked open, and Kreacher shuffled through, a bundle of rags cradled to his chest. Oh, so slowly, he approached his Master and lowered his arms, revealing a curious face with huge, green eyes.

"Blimey, that's an elven-baby!" Ron blurted out, having risen from the sofa to get a closer look.

The elf's glare made very clear what he thought of the wizard with the knack of saying the obvious, before carefully placing the child in Harry's arms. It was about the size of a new-born kitten, and for a second the raven-haired was scared that he would squish it or hurt it in some way. But when Kreacher simply adjusted his hands to accommodate the tiny thing, he relaxed. "How? … When? … Why didn't you tell me?" Harry stammered, unable to tear his eyes away from the adorable, tiny face.

Hovering protectively, the elf revealed. "At the place of the evil wizards, Kreacher was exploring, felt the dark magic. Her parents were weak. Dark Wizards had drained them. Kept her hidden, unbound but safe. They put Kreacher in the stove. Only room for two."

Finally wrenching his eyes away, the raven-haired wanted to know, "Why did you not tell me?"

"Baby is not bonded yet!" The elf spat out with vicious defensiveness. "Kreacher was afraid Master would set her free!"

"But that's a good thing!" Hermione spoke up excited. "Don't you want that for her? A life without servitude."

But before Kreacher could tear into the muggle-born witch about her views on free elves, Draco rose from the sofa and stepped up to the trio. Putting his hand on Harry's shoulder, he assured the elf. "Your Master would never do that. Not when he knows that a house elf needs a wizarding family when he or she grows up, because otherwise the offspring would suffer and die from the lack of magic to sustain her growth."

Harry instinctively pulled the little bundle closer to his chest, as if he was able to protect her from such a fate by sheer proximity. The gesture seemed to ease something in his elf.

"No," he whispered to himself. "Harry Potter is a good Master. Would not hurt baby." Looking up for the first time, he inquired hopefully. "Will Master claim her, so she can become useful and strong?"

Reluctant, Harry relaxed again, revealing more of the child in his arms to those surrounding him. "I am not the only wizard here. Are you sure you don't want to ask one of the others?"

Looking at the Malfoys and the Weasleys, Kreacher returned his gaze to Harry at long last and repeated, "Will Master claim baby, so she can become useful and strong?"

The young wizard could not suppress the beaming smile when he nodded and gazed at Draco, who still hovered by his side. "How do I do that?"

"You give her a name of course." The pureblood explained easily.

Watching his elf, Harry wanted to know, "What do you call her?"

"Baby."

Chuckling, the raven-haired looked down. "Not very suitable in the long run. But what about …" Pondering, he searched for inspiration, before smiling at the bundle in his hands. Carefully he brushed a tuft of white hair out of her face, deciding, "I will call her Emerald. Because she is just tiny and precious and beautiful." When the baby gurgled, he kissed her forehead and whispered, "Hello, Emerald, welcome to the family."

A twisted noise from his usually so grumpy and disapproving house-elf, had Harry transfer Emerald back into his arms, before he pulled both close, hugging them carefully. For a few moments, he felt Kreacher lean against him, snuggling close before the elf seemed to recall his dignity and pushed away. "Baby needs to eat now. Master will excuse us."

Holding him back, before he could flee and not be seen for the rest of the night, the young wizard instructed, "Take a few of the black napkins from the dining-room. The satin will be smoother than these rags, and we can change them whenever necessary. Also, we will talk about sleeping arrangements. So, return when you are finished."

Without hesitation, the elf bowed deep and replied, "Yes, Master."

"Wow," Harry exhaled explosively, sinking back on the carpet. "I feel like I have just become a father."

With a quiet chuckle, Narcissa confirmed, "Of an elven baby with a beautiful name. You can be proud of yourself. Kreacher must have a lot of faith in you if he chose you for her master."

"What if I mess this up?" He asked concerned. "I don't know the first thing about childcare, even less about house-elves."

"Just go with your gut," Ron advised, and Draco added after a moment of hesitation. "In the end, Kreacher will be the one to take care of her. All you have to do is open yourself so that she can access your magic. The rest will happen naturally."

\--O-O--

It turned out that Kreacher had put the baby into the old laundry room. Since it was connected to the central fireplace in the kitchen, it was always toasty warm. The little nest, the elf had built, was made of old linen and snuggly shawls. Kreacher had also assembled some kind of mobile, containing strange, magical artefacts, to - as Draco pondered - feed her magic.

Mostly the elf had tried to sustain her himself, both regarding sustenance and magical energy. Since he had not had a proper owner until today, that had put a substantial strain on him. Now that Kreacher had stopped hiding, they all could see how grey his complexion had become and how subdued his features. Concerned for his wellbeing, Harry demanded of him to find a spot for both elves in his bedroom. But Kreacher was adamant that it was unsuitable for an elf to co-habitat with his wizard; even for Emerald, despite her being a child.

In the end, they agreed that Ron, Hermione and Harry would push the boundaries of the laundry room, to create some wizard space. Having learned from his father, Ron wove that spell skilfully, creating a new nook with a big window, so both Emerald and Kreacher had enough room for two beds and a little play area.

Having given the majority of the power for the expansion, as well as the adjustments of the wards, Harry was swaying on his feet once they were finished. Before his friends or even the Malfoys could reach out, Kreacher decided, "Master will go to bed now and get some rest." Bundling the baby up in a warm shawl, before putting her to bed, the elf turned around and despite Harry's protests, snapped his fingers and the young wizard was gone. Crawling into his own bed, the elf informed the rest, "Masters and Mistresses will now leave as well. Ba… Emerald needs her sleep."

\--O-O--

Things became more comfortable after that. It was as if this veil between Harry and his house had been lifted. Grimmauld Place did not become nice and cosy, but it became more of a home than Harry had ever known before. In the first weeks of October, Harry returned to work. He felt tired and worn, both because of the ancient wards of the house slowly adjusting to his magic, boosting themselves on his energies, and his efforts to build up Emerald's and Kreacher's reserves as fast as possible. He and Neville still had not had any significant breakthroughs in their case, but the few meagre leads they were able to collect were enough for Robarts not to make them drop it. After all, there were always other incidents that needed their attention when they had reached a dead-end.

Harry also tried to take the Malfoys’ and Andromeda's advice to heart and make himself available for the members of the pure-blood society. The first invitation he accepted came at Andromeda's recommendation. The Bones family had prepared a nice garden-party and had invited Harry along, since he had been in school with Susan. A lot of the 'light' pureblood elite was present, and Andromeda knew the majority of them, since they had children in Teddy's age. Since there were not many tutors available that were up to the standards of 'pureblood society', the elderly witch had conferred with many of her peers to find the beast teachers for her grandchild.

Having asked her to accompany him, using her familiarity with these people to introduce himself, Harry had no problems to subtly direct the topic of conversation towards their children's education and inquire about their views on day-care establishments.

\--O-O--

"Honestly, it's hard to imagine wizards getting **anything** done in a society as backwards as ours!" Harry exclaimed, finally toeing off the dress-shoes that had tortured him the better part of the evening. It was two in the morning, but the young wizard was far too excited to go to bed. "You know, I always thought Hogwarts was antiquated, with the quills and the lack of electronics. But the thought of modern teaching methods does not even occur to any pureblood out there!"

Harry tucked in the covers of his patient at the foot of the bed with a deprecating chuckle. "But maybe I am as stuck in my views as them. Everything around here is black because tradition demands it. You know, maybe a little sunshine-yellow comforter would spark things up." Shaking his head, apparently, he had had enough sparkling wine and spirits to talk nonsense, the raven-haired tried to collect his thoughts. "I wish I could bring Hermione with me. She is so much smarter. Then again, on the other hand, maybe not … she has quite a low tolerance when it comes to stubborn people. Even when being around them on a daily basis."

Sighing, Harry rose from his chair and picked up his shoes. Approaching the bed, he made sure that his patient was warm and pulled the ever-present strand of hair out of his face. Quietly he admitted, "You understood the hearts of people better than any of us. You did not like them, loathed them at times, I'm sure. But you understood. An occupational hazard of being a spy, I guess. You have no idea what I would give for you to tell me how stupid I am right now, and that I am going about this the wrong way."

Briefly allowing himself to graze the man's face with the tips of his fingers, Harry whispered, "But I am working on it. I promise. I have not given up on you yet."

Stepping back from the bed, the young man drew a deep breath, when he spotted Kreacher from the corner of his eyes. "Good night, Sir."

\--O-O--

Harry had not allowed himself to sleep in Draco's room after the blond had asked him to leave. But he had made a habit of peeking in, on his way to bed and brush a comforting hand over Draco's head or back. Most nights, a few minutes of soothing contact helped the young pureblood to overcome his worst anxiety and find at least a few hours of restful sleep.

In a way, it never felt enough.

\--O-O--

"I have no clue whatsoever, which invitations to accept and which are safe to decline!" Harry groaned, throwing a bunch of letters on his desk. In the last few weeks, his office at Grimmauld Place had been redecorated. Where once a single desk had taken up the majority of the place, another, smaller one, had been added at the side. Most days Narcissa sat there for a few hours managing Harry's social calendar.

Lucius had tried to occupy it on occasion, but his wife had swiftly discouraged that notion. At the Manor, she had her salon with suitable office space. But since her family was not receiving invitations any longer, Narcissa had taken it upon herself to manage Harry's social duties. Now, she picked up two embroidered parchments, presenting them. "The Lady Greengrass has lost a lot of her social standing, but with her persistent attempts at charity work, and her daughter's employment at the ministry, I think she might gain back a lot of it, within the next few years. To show your support by accepting her invitation, you would benefit in the long run. And not only with her but several other 'dark' families as well."

A very Slytherin approach, but Harry could not deny that the chances of success were quite good. "Anything else?"

"The Lady Longbottom, in the first week of November. But I considered it a given since you work with her grandson."

Augusta had informed him of her little soirées, ever since Harry's return from his gap-year. He had always politely declined until Neville had become his partner. The same year the young man had told him - in no uncertain terms - that Harry would accept his grandmother's invitation, or else …

\--O-O--

The first time, Harry had been at Longbottom Manor, he had been baffled by the sheer size of it. Of course, he had known that Neville's family had been well off. But nothing about his friend had ever indicated the grandeur his family lived in. It might only be a fraction of Malfoy Manor, but every stone and drape and furniture was of outstanding quality, albeit old. Where the Malfoys had put their wealth and breeding on display, Neville had ignored his. Meeting Augusta Longbottom in person had been quiet … unsettling.

In a matter-of-fact tone, the Lady of the House had explained to him, what she thought of Harry running off for seventh year, leaving her grandson to fend for himself and the younger years, at Hogwarts. She detailed the trials and tribulations her boy had gone through and pointed out the magical strength and leadership skills he had gained in the process.

Harry could not even tell, who had been more embarrassed by that speech, him or Neville. Both stood before the elderly witch with flaming cheeks, eyes glued to the floor; very much like first-years who were told off by their Head of House. A few times, Neville had tried to offer feeble protests but had been cut off with a sharp gesture.

In the end, Augusta had concluded, "Therefore, since you have already proven a cunning mind and great skill, equalling that of my grandson, I expect you, Mr Potter, to execute the same care and cunning while working with him. And if I ever hear one of you getting injured for lack of preparation, cunning or thought, you have proven yourselves capable of, you will not like what is coming for you." Her stern gaze had made Harry shiver, so when she asked, "Are we clear, gentlemen?" He and Neville had merely mumbled, "Yes, ma'am."

Her content smile had transformed her face from stern matron to benevolent grandmother. The raven-haired had not been sure that he had heard right when Augusta had instructed afterwards. "Excellent. Now that that is out of the way, Neville, please bring your friend upstairs and help him with his hair. You have twenty minutes before the first guests arrive, and that," she had gestured at Harry's unruly mop," simply won't do!"

With a chuckled, "Yes, gran," Neville had pulled him out of the room.

"Your grandmother is a scary witch."

"Tell me about it."

The master bedroom, Neville had guided him into, had been as grand as one would except for the Lord of Noble House. But once Harry had set foot into it, he had felt like stepping into a fairy tale. Every surface held at least one plant, more often than not two or three; a huge four-poster-bed served as a climbing post for tiny white roses. Approaching the overgrowing piece of furniture, Harry half expected to find sleeping beauty there, like in Dudley's old books. But instead, he spotted a black and white comforter; stitched little spiders with big eyes, crawling all over it. "Luna."

Sheepish, Neville scratched the back of his neck. "She says it helps her to get into the spirit of the season."

Chuckling, Harry inspected the ugly plant that set proudly on the dresser below a full mirror. "Is that … Mimbulus Mimbletonia?"

With a proud smile, Neville adjusted the pot of the prickly plant. "Yes!"

"But how …" After all this time, seeing something so sensitive untouched by everything that had happened, took Harry's breath away. "This is the same one you brought to Hogwarts in your fifth year?" He had to make sure.

"It is," his friend confirmed. "The plant got quite attached to me, so I brought it with me every year."

"I remember."

"In seventh year, I hid it in Greenhouse 2. Students know enough by then as to not touch anything without instructions, and Pomona kept an eye out for me."

"Pomona?"

"Stop it," Neville smiled despite Harry's teasing.

Studying the plant, Harry admitted, "I did not do it alone, you know? Everyone out there and even at the Ministry, they look at me like I am some kind of all-powerful wizard. But without Hermione, I would not have lasted a day. And Ron saved us more times than I can count with his practical mind and in-depth knowledge of the wizarding world. I am nothing special, Neville. I'm just me … just Harry."

Touching the raven-haired's shoulder, his new partner turned him around. "Listening to gran's stories, you would think that I single-handedly saved the entire student body from the Carrows. But I had Luna and Ginny and the other seventh years. I do not need you to be all-powerful. Just be Harry and have my back and allow me to protect yours. Can you do that?"

Looking at the strong and confident man the scared first year with the missing toad had become, Harry pulled him into a brief hug and sighed relieved, "I promise."

"Great," Neville confirmed, clapping him on the back, before dragging Harry towards the en-suite. "Now, let's take care of your hair, so gran can show you off to all the young women she had invited."

"Ahm … does your grandmother know that I don't carry a wand for girl's exclusively?"

Working some product into Harry's hair before taming it with a spell, the brunet raised his eyebrows at that question. "From the impression you have just gotten, do you really think that she cares?"

\--O-O--

Shaking off the memories of a long row of eligible bachelorettes Augusta had eating out of her hand after introducing to THE Harry Potter, the young wizard studied the invitations once again, wondering if he should poke the Hippogriff with a stick or count his blessings. In the end, however, he had to ask, "What about the night of Halloween?"

Surprised, the Lady Malfoy looked at him. "I did not consider there being any question about you attending the feast at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?"

Pulling an embroidered card that was decorated with the Gryffindor lion from Harry's mailbox, the pureblood gazed at her host.

 

"You had me reply two weeks ago to accept the invitation."

Gently tracing his house-emblem, Harry admitted, "I've forgotten that it was for the Halloween feast."

Hesitant, Narcissa inquired, "Do you wish to excuse yourself?"

Straightening in his chair, the young wizard shook his head. "No, I'll go, of course. It'll be alright." Closing his eyes, Harry was not sure who he tried to convince, Narcissa or himself when he repeated decisively, "It will be alright."

\--O-O--

Harry had never considered himself a particularly religious person. Of course, the Dursleys had gone to church on occasion. But since he had been locked in his cupboard at the time, he had had trouble considering their actions as an act of faith or altruism. Aunt Petunia's charity work had only ever been motivated by elevating herself above those who had less.

After Hogwarts and magic and Horcrux versus Hallows, Harry had troubles reconciling everything that had happened with the picture of an arbitrary god, that guided everyone's fate. Also, it was easier not to believe in an almighty, divine power that allowed a baby to lose his parents and then be abused, in what was supposed to be his home for ten consecutive years.

Magic was real, as real as the mythical beasts that had inhabited Dudley's old storybooks; as real as the forces of water and fire and air and wind. A wizard did not need to attribute divinity to these powers to accept them for what they were.

And the great beyond … Harry knew there was something; had looked Death in the face, so there was no reason for him to 'believe' in anything other than what he could see with his own eyes. Still, despite accepting all that, despite knowing that he was about to visit a place where there was nothing but earth and stone and a few congregations of calcium carbonate; he felt absurdly grateful to see Ron and Hermione when he stepped outside.

They had waited for him by the door, the moment the sun had touched the horizon. And once the door had fallen shut, his two best friends in the world had taken his hands, and they had apparated to Godric's Hollow. The trio had not even let go upon their arrival, and Harry had been clinging to them pathetically. He had conquered the darkest wizard of all time. Why was this so hard; never getting any easier over the years?

The grave had been unchanged. A part of Harry had wondered if he should buy a new headstone or freshen up the engravings. But on the other hand, this was just a place. A place where bones lay, but spirits never came to. His parents were out there; Harry knew that for a fact; somewhere where they could watch him and wait for him. So, in the end, the grave-stone did not matter. He still put the white lily on the small ledge, right under his mother's name, as he had done every year since his patient … since the Battle of Hogwarts. And, like every year since that fateful Christmas Eve, Hermione spelled a wreath of white roses into existence. And, like every year since Voldemort's death, Ron conjured a fairy light that would illuminate the grave until the spring equinox. Then they would cry.

It was not a big scene of huge sobs and tearful words for those that had passed to witness. But it was a remembrance all the same. Neither of the three made time for this in their every-day lives, too determined to function, to prove that all the pain and loss and suffering had been worth something. Ron had been the one to start this somewhat embarrassing tradition. He had worked hard in the week leading up to Halloween 1998. Had still struggled to get his legs under himself in the shop, torn between the need to be there for his brother and the idea that it was somehow still his responsibility to catch the remaining Death Eaters that had evaded capture.

That year, it had been quite a scene, because Ron had been so tired and furious with himself for everything he had not managed to achieve, and angry with the world at large to not be miraculously better, now that Voldemort was gone. Hermione and Harry had not tried to calm him or ease his pain. They had merely hugged him and stayed by his side, unbothered by their tears of sympathy and anger and grieving. At least anybody entering the cemetery that night had been smart enough not to bother them.

The next year, Harry had returned from his gap-year just in time for Halloween. Being a mother and freshly appointed barrister at the Ministry had taken its toll on Hermione. Therefore, she had been the one to break down. In the year 2000, Harry had just lost a young muggleborn witch to a vicious Death Eater attack. Somehow, the world was not becoming a better place. It was still full of people that considered their blood-status more important than anything else. Humans and witches and wizards alike had that overwhelming ability for cruelty, viciousness, and pride and that tore Harry to pieces.

Once the tears had run out, they had simply accepted the toll their lives had put on them and had started to take their comforts in each other. Sometimes they ranted. Most of the time they did not. Like tonight, just sitting there, in their own little world for a few hours, brought back memories of their time where they had not had anybody but each other. There were other people now; people who depended on them; people they could depend upon. But in the end, for a few, short hours on Halloween night, they remembered everything they had been through and all they had achieved and that - no matter what - together they could deal with everything life threw at them.

"Do you think it will ever get any easier?" Harry asked after a while.

Chuckling wetly, Hermione shook her head, safe in the comfortable embrace of her two best friends. "Definitely not."

"It will!" Ron assured her, kissing her forehead.

Harry could not tell if his best friend really believed in what he said, or if he merely tried to soothe his wife. But in the end, it did not matter, because their girl would not have it. Kissing Ron's hand before putting it on her belly, she looked into his eyes and whispered, "It will not. It will be loud and exhausting, and nerve-wrenching like it was with Rose. But it will be worth it."

Harry could feel Ron starting to tremble all over in their shared embrace and could only laugh out loud when his best friend squeaked, "What?"

"I'm pregnant again."

"What? … When? … How?" The redhead stammered.

Harry, having hugged Hermione impossible close, released her and nudged her towards her husband. "No … please … too much information. Please talk about the how at home and leave me with my blissful delusions of Hermione getting pregnant by magic!"

Laughing exuberated, showering his wife with kisses, Ron still had the presence of mind to shove Harry, until they all lay tangled in the snow. It was the best Halloween any of them had had in a long time.

\--O-O--

When they entered Hogwarts two minutes after seven, the Headmistress was already waiting for them. They did not question her ability to make them feel like unruly students, with a mere raise of her eyebrow. A swift wave of her wand had their clothes clean and dry and after a brief, "Thank you, Professor McGonagall," they followed her to the great hall.

"Would you like to share the reason for your belated arrival? You are aware that several hundred students are waiting for the feast to start?" She inquired sternly.

Trading a bright grin with his friends, Harry shared, after an encouraging nod from them. "Hermione is pregnant again."

For a heartbeat, McGonagall's swift stride faltered, but she caught herself instantly, replying in a calm voice, "Congratulations Mr and Mrs Weasley. Let us hope that your second child comes after his or her mother, very much like Rose."

Chuckling at the affronted look of her husband, Hermione replied, "I will try my very best, but I would not hold out too much hope. Rose seemed to be the exception to every rule and in the end, wouldn't you be bored with a school full of well-behaved studious pupils, professor?"

Having reached the great hall, the elderly witch turned around and merely looked at the trio. "I would be willing to try."

\--O-O--

The feast was … just like they all remembered: loud, boisterous, and happy, though the trio could not entirely shake the tension of expecting a professor to barge in and shout something about a troll in the dungeons, hissed words of mayhem or news of a convicted Death Eater having slipped in. If McGonagall noticed their slightly forced smiles while they changed places from the Gryffindor to the Slytherin, the Hufflepuff and finally to the Ravenclaw-table, always keeping their eyes on the exits, she did not mention it. She expressed, however, her gratitude for their open display of house unity. And if Hermione, Ron and Harry noticed the random clicks of gems falling into the house-glasses, they did not point it out either.

Houses were necessary, but after the war, Ron had suggested them doing more harm than good, if teachers playing favourites was such a big part of the end-result. When asked about a better way, Ron had merely shrugged and suggested, "Let the students have a go at it as well." After an exhaustive discussion with the staff, the headmistress had approved of a new system. Pupils could give each other house-points as well. UP to three points, per awarding were allowed and never to a student of your own house, nor more than once a month to the same person, to avoid friends boosting each other's house counters. The children had started to go out of their way to help each other after that. They had even formed house-spanning study groups to be able to award more points. It had become some sort of game, to see how many gems had room in the hourglasses. Since adopting the new system, they had needed expansion twice already. Two years ago had proven that a new expansion charm was needed. One that adapted to the content and not a fixed number.

During the last Quidditch -match of the season, happening during a thunderstorm, the beaters of the Slytherin-team had been hit by a storm-wave and had collided mid-air. The two players had been knocked unconscious, tumbling to their deaths. Only the closest players had even been able to spot the disaster through the heavy rain. The three Ravenclaw-chasers had thought incredibly fast on their feet and conjured a blanket between them, catching their unconscious opponents. They had lost the Quaffle. And the Slytherin-seeker had caught the Snitch, oblivious to the crisis. The game had been called to an end the moment the chasers had touched down on the pitch with their precious cargo. A rematch had been discussed, but even the Ravenclaw captain had to acknowledge that his chasers had forfeited their game and that it had been the right decision. So Slytherin had won the Quidditch cup of 2001.

The next evening, the Slytherin team-captain had risen during dinner and announced, "For saving our beaters, I award Antoine Thomson, Sandra Jenkins and Ian Glen one house-point each."

Whispers had broken out, some pleased - Slytherins rarely awarded house-points - some irked that the spectacular save was only worth one point. The discussions were halted, when the Slytherin chasers rose one after the other, awarding the Ravenclaw chasers one point each. Then the beaters had followed, as had the seeker. A pin drop could have been heard when after the Quidditch team, the next Slytherin rose from the bench and continued the awarding in the same manner. Then the next had gotten up, and the next, and the next.

Halfway through this ceremony, the Ravenclaw hourglass had burst and spread sparkling blue gems all over the floor of the great hall. Still, the Slytherins continued, and the entire student body had watched as yet more gems popped into existence. The applause that night had been deafening both for Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Green and blue had mingled a lot more in the corridors and halls of the castle, after that night. An ingenious move on the snakes' part, as it showed during finals since with their 'acquaintances' their grade point average had increased notably.

After repairing the hourglasses, McGonagall had called for a staff meeting, where they had decided to separate the Quidditch cup from the House cup. The student body, the Slytherins especially, had been more than pleased.

\--O-O--

The golden trio had been delighted when they had heard about that display of house-unity. Still, being of the 'old sort', they were pleased to see the Gryffindor house in the lead.

After dinner, once the plates were cleared, the headmistress announced, "To honour the traditions of All Hallows Eve, we have decided to light a bonfire on the great meadow by the lake. Everybody who calls the Hogwarts' grounds their home was invited to celebrate with us. I expect every student who wishes to attend, to show him- or herself respectful to all guests, be they human or beast. Students below the age of seventeen will return to their dormitories at eleven p.m. the latest. Monday morning classes have been cancelled."

The overjoyed applause made even the grumpiest professor smile as pupils had dashed to their dormitories to bundle up.

"New traditions, professor?" Harry inquired when accompanying the Headmistress out.

"More like very old ones," McGonagall explained. "I have had tea with an old acquaintance a few weeks back. He wanted to pick my brain on incorporating more traditional celebrations into our social calendar. I admit that I was puzzled at first, but after giving the matter some thought, I think I understand where you are coming from."

"You don't think I am expecting too much?"

Approaching the bonfire and watching the students tentatively interacting with a few of the magical people and creatures in attendance, she pondered, "You are expecting a lot. Only time will tell if it is too much. But I have high hopes for you, Mr Potter. You have a history of achieving even the most exceptional goals once you have set your heart on them."

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking down, Harry paled, and his fingers started trembling. "No … NO! … I left this in the woods for a reason! I can't … no one should have this. It's too dangerous!"


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cold, deep voice had him pull his wand instinctively. "How dare you invade our dungeons, Gryffindor?"  
> The problem was, in front of him was nothing but stone.  
> Twisting from side to side, Harry asked tense, "Excuse me?" He might be an Auror, but him hearing voices never boded well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kreacher is a damn cheeky brat. Don't you love him?

The crowd around the bonfire was nothing the golden trio had ever seen. Thestrals nibbled on snacks, confusing some of the younger children who could not see them. A few pixies and fairies were taunting students with glamour and some weak form of allure until the professors put an end to it. A giant spider, that hovered just at the edge of the forest, scared most of the first and second-years back to their dormitories and around midnight, when the festivity started to wind down, a herd of unicorns emerged from the forest, sampling the remaining treats. They even allowed a selected few to pet them. A young one approached Hermione and nibbled on her cloak. Rubbing its mane over her stomach until it lost a few strands of hair before returning to its herd.

"You better keep that safe," Flickwick spoke up from beside the Weasleys.

While Hermione nearly jumped in surprise, still a little dazed over what had happened, Ron gratefully accepted a clean pocket square their former professor and rolled up the three hairs; the unicorn had gifted them. Still, he asked, "Why did it do that?"

Looking at the magnificent beasts, their Goblin-professor shrugged. "Who knows? Barely anyone understands the mindset of a unicorn. You could ask Hagrid, but I guess the only thing safe to say is that your little one will need it."

"How do you …?" Hermione gasped, touching her belly protectively.

"It was not that much of a leap," Flickwick chuckled, before looking towards the tables with the refreshments. "But now you'll have to excuse me. Rare delicacies are on offer tonight, and I'm afraid the black pudding will be gone if I don't make haste." On an afterthought, he smiled up at his former pupils and offered a half-bow, "And congratulations, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger … I mean Mrs Weasley. May your child be born on a bed of gold and his enemies blood flow freely."

"Thank you, professor," the couple replied. Handing over the unicorn-hair for safekeeping, Ron chuckled, "You know, most of the time, I forget that Flickwick is part goblin and then he says things like that."

"Well remember the …bat - the last time we saw him fight, I would say that's a dangerous thing to forget, Ron."

"It doesn't matter." Wrapping his arms around her from behind, lacing their fingers in front of her stomach, Ron gingerly kissed his wife's hair. "We have done everything in our power to make sure that fighting like that won't ever be necessary again."

Relaxing into the arms of her beloved, the young witch whispered, "I hope so. With all my heart."

\--O-O--

"Mars is becoming brighter by the day." A deep voice stated from behind Harry.

"Mars is bright tonight," the young wizard whispered to himself, closing his eyes against the rising memories of a night, long ago, before turning around. "Hello, Firenze. Good to see you."

"Is it?" The centaur asked.

Looking at the stars, the young man shrugged. "I guess that depends, is the upcoming change good or bad?"

With a small smile, the horse-man leaned against the boulder Harry had chosen as a perch. "That is not how it works, as you are well aware of, Mr Potter."

"I wish it was, though."

"Really?" The former Divination teacher inquired. "Thinking back on a life as full of trials and tribulations as yours, would you really have considered it a blessing to know of the upcoming dangers up front?"

Shrugging, the boy-who-lived replied, "I might have been able to save a few people."

"And lose others. Everything has a price. No life can be gained without another being lost. Fate always insists on getting its due."

Clenching his fists, Harry growled, "Screw fate!"

Tilting his head, Firenze stated, "I'm afraid that is not in my power. Those of us who see, are always helpless to bring change. You, however, always displayed an admirable lack of foresight."

"What does that even mean?" The young wizard asked exasperatedly. Never expect a straight answer form a centaur indeed.

"That's the beauty of it, Mr Potter. It means whatever you want it to mean."

For a while, the two rested next to each other, with Harry offering some of the treats he had collected before coming here. Once the bowl was empty, Firenze straightened. "I will take my leave now. Have a good night."

Looking at the centaur, the young wizard inquired, "Why did you come? You did not join the celebrations, only talked to me. Why are you here, if you don't mind me asking."

Gesturing towards the bowl, the horseman replied, "I came to return something to its rightful owner."

Looking down, Harry paled, and his fingers started trembling. "No … NO! … I left this in the woods for a reason! I can't … no one should have this. It's too dangerous!"

"Yet, it came into my possession and is now back in yours. These things happen for a reason. But as I said before, it is up to you what you make of it. You can as easily slip it into your pocket, as throw it into the lake. The choice, fortunately, is all yours."

\--O-O--

The sun was already colouring the horizon when Harry slipped into the guest-quarters. Being here, brought back so many memories, good and bad. But in a way, Hogwarts was still the first home he ever had. So, when Harry's head hit the pillow, he was asleep almost instantly.

Kreacher was pushing open the curtains an undetermined amount of time later. "G'way!" Harry grumbled, hiding beneath his pillow from the beaming rays of sunshine that flooded the room. "The cat-professor said that classes are in session after lunch until five. If Master wishes to enter the Potion Master's room, he will get up now!"

"Why would I …?" Harry asked, digging himself out of bed, but once again, his elf interrupted, "Master wishes to take a shower now!" Before vanishing.

Stumbling into the great hall, Harry spotted Ron and Hermione at the head-table, talking animatedly to a beaming professor Sprout. Not up for conversation just yet, Harry chose a place at the nearly empty Hufflepuff table and nodded gratefully when a seventh year sent a pot of coffee his way. He shuffled through the available dishes until a bowl of sweet porridge appeared on his plate. After a taste, he discovered that it was made exactly to his liking. "Kreacher?"

"Yes, Master?" The elf popping up startled a few of the Hufflepuffs closest to him, but after a brief, apologetic glance from Harry, they returned to their meals. "How did you know that I would be interested in Professor Snape's room. Did you read my mail?"

Glancing at his wizard as if he was an imbecile, Kreacher stated with forced patience, "Master Harry has the young Master Draco study ancient potions recipes, especially anti-venoms. The Potion Master's library is the best place to look for an antidote. Or at least a recipe. Kreacher is an old house-elf, he has learned to think without having to snoop!"

Rubbing his temples, Harry sighed. "And how do you know about Draco's research? Did he talk to you about it?"

Insulted the elf crossed his arms. "Kreacher is the Black-family’s … the Potter-family’s elf." he corrected himself with a grimace, "He knows what happens in his house, as is expected of him!"

"Kreacher?" Harry asked fondly when the elf turned away.

"Yes?" The creature inquired exasperated.

"Thank you … for the porridge."

Grumbling under his breath, the house elf put a lot of effort into not smiling. Instead, he instructed, "Master wants to eat his breakfast now. It's getting cold."

When Harry took a bite, the meal was - of course - the perfect temperature.

\--O-O--

"Headmistress?" Harry had needed some time to find his elusive teacher. Though, not so elusive in fact, since he had caught up with her in the transfiguration classroom.

"Yes, Mr Potter?" McGonagall looked up from her grading, still more comfortable to do it here than in the office. Surprised, she noticed her former pupil fidgeting, so she transfigured one of the desks into an armchair and invited, "Tea?"

"Yes … No … Please." Harry replied, unable to meet the headmistress' eyes.

Offering a steaming cup, she prompted gently, "Harry, what is it?"

It was rare for them to be on first-name-basis. Still, it had the desired effect of the young wizard finally meeting her eyes. "I was wondering … you said that Professor Snape's research is available, but I wondered who … what became of his rooms." Oh, this was so hard, because no matter the reply, Harry knew that he would instantly dislike the person who had invaded the sanctuary of a 'dead' man. No matter how much right he or she had to live comfortably in the dungeons.

Stirring her tea, the older witch studied the young wizard before her for several moments, before revealing, "Nobody of course. Hogwarts sealed them off after Severus … left."

"What?" Harry's head whipped up, starring at the headmistress in wonder.

Tilting her head, she revealed. "Whenever a long-time professor leaves, the castle seals off his or her quarters. After about a decade they open again, changed, and ready for a new occupant. We think the personal belongings transfer to the room of hidden things but have not been able to confirm that until now."

"So, everything … all of his potions, his journals, his belongings … they could all be …"

"Exactly where they belong."

Jumping to his feet, Harry beamed at the older witch. "I … thank you, professor. And thanks for the tea."

Watching the door fall shut, McGonagall smiled to herself, topped off her tea and returned to her grading. If anybody could get Hogwarts to open the sealed chambers, even temporarily, it would be Harry Potter.

\--O-O--

It had been here … somewhere. This corridor was half-way between the Slytherin common-room and the potions classroom. Harry had already walked its length several times, realising that he had no idea where Snape's quarters had been. Somehow, he had always gotten the impression that the man lived in his office. But that was out of the question.

A cold, deep voice had him pull his wand instinctively. "How dare you invade our dungeons, Gryffindor?"

The problem was, in front of him was nothing but stone.

Twisting from side to side, Harry asked tense, "Excuse me?" He might be an Auror, but him hearing voices never boded well.

"You heard me!" A translucent figure emerged from the dungeon wall, sneering down at the twitchy wizard. "Now, answer the question!"

Putting away his wand, Harry indicated a bow. "Baron, sorry. I'm looking for Professor Snape's office."

"No!"

"No?"

"No! You are here - like all the other little up starters before you - to steal his treasures! Because if you were here with Severus' approval, you would know where to look for the entrance."

Swallowing around a constricting throat, Harry forced out, "His approval? But he is …"

Hovering an inch away from Harry's nose, the Slytherin ghost glared down at the wizard. "Don't dare to imply for a second, that I would not know the time and place where the head of Slytherin house perished; especially on Hogwarts grounds!" The spectre hissed venomously and only pulled back when Harry deflated. "Now tell the truth, child!"

"I … I did not come to steal, but I need … we need his journals … his notes on antidotes. He … he's not dead yet, but …" It hurt, so unbearably to even think that sentence, to finish the mere idea of losing the very last connection he had to his past, even in the privacy of his mind. Fortunately, he did not have to.

"But he is hovering on the brink," the Bloody Baron concluded.

Nodding slowly, Harry confirmed quietly, "Yes, and we might need a miracle for him to pull through. Or the best potion master of the century to brew the antidote to Nagini's poison. He was the best. He might be our … his, only hope."

"Well," the ghost retreated, losing a little of materiality he had gained in his anger. "This century is still young, and your Dragon might still rise to the occasion."

"How do you know about Draco and me?"

Chuckling darkly, the Bloody Baron toyed with his sword, "Because you just told me. Also, his magic is all over you, very much like Lucius'. But where your and Lucius' connection is like chains, your and Draco's is like silk threads; nearly insubstantial, but there if you know what to look for." After a moment, the ghost returned his attention to the Gryffindor. "Bindings are a dangerous thing, Mr Potter. They can serve as guidelines, beneficial for both parties. Or they can become shackles, binding the powerless to the fate of a madman. It remains to be seen how yours will turn out." Twirling the blade in his hand, a smile travelled over the Bloody Baron's features the moment he spotted another ethereal figure at the end of the corridor. "My Lady," he bowed deeply.

"Stop toying with Harry Potter." Helena Ravenclaw chided softly. "He has done the right thing by us in the past. He tries his very best right now, for one of your charges. I do not believe that he has lost his way. No matter how unusual his request."

Blowing a kiss over the Grey Lady's hand, the Bloody Baron did not turn around when he replied, "If he knew how to do right, by Severus, he would search for access to his quarters in his office. But maybe you are right, my Lady. Maybe there is still hope. After all, at Hogwarts help always comes to those who ask for it. As long as they are pure of heart."

As soon as the two ghosts were out of sight, Harry whipped around and dashed into Snape's office.

\--O-O--

Two hours later, he sat with his back to the wall, none the wiser. Had it been anybody but the Grey Lady by his side, Harry would be ready to believe that the Bloody Baron had pulled the wool over his eyes, determined to keep the secret of his head of house. Helena Ravenclaw, however, was not the type for deceit. If she offered advice, it was sound. Still, despite believing that the entrance to Severus Snape's private quarters was here, the young wizard could not find it.

"Give me a chance," he whispered, closing his eyes, trying to reach out. "Please … I don't want to violate his privacy or steal what is his. It's just … his research is my last resort. If anybody ever has a chance to find an antivenom to Nagini's poison, it's him! He's not dead yet, but seeing him, lying motionless in his bed, day in and day out … having to move his body, having others put their hands on him so his muscles won't diminish completely. He would hate that! Hate how weak he has become. He has such a strong mind. I want to believe that … need to believe it, because what would have been the point of it all otherwise? He should be at St. Mungos or another clinic, but Poppy was right the day of the battle. Nobody would ever take care of him the way we can. Because nobody would ever understand the ordeals he had put himself through. He never had a chance at Hogwarts because all that counted for something in Slytherin were purity of blood and money. Nobody but Tom understood his ambitions, how he was determined to overcome is 'lacks' with hard work and ingenuity. And once Snape saw the Inner Circle for what it was … saw Voldemort for what he was … well, he had lost his chance with them too."

Hitting the back of his head against the wall, easing the pain in his heart with the pain in his skull, he looked at the ceiling despondently. "That's all I want for him: a chance to live his own life. He can even continue hating me for all I care. I just really, really need for him to wake up. So, please … please, help me!"

Plonk.

Slowly turning around, rubbing the back of his head, where he had just hit wood instead of stone, Harry got up in amazement, watching a door shimmering into existence. It was old and discoloured from potion fumes. The handle was matted, but when the raven-haired wizard reached for it, it opened smoothly. "Thank you," Harry whispered, before pushing the door open to Severus Snape's inner sanctum.

It was … black, no surprise there. There were green fabrics, and silver edges decorating the furniture. One would expect such dark colours to make rooms gloomy and depressing, but nothing could be further from the truth. The black leather of the couch looked buttery soft and incredibly inviting. The black fixtures were - despite their lack of use - polished to a shine. Deep green armchairs offered a place to read in front of an open fire; and silver-grey curtains draped the glass-windows that seemed to look right into the lake, as well as a lovely picture of a summer meadow, with a gurgling stream running along the lower edge.

Harry could picture his former potions professor in these surroundings oh so easily. A smaller, second door, led off the main chamber and when he opened it, he spotted a private lab. Another door hid a small kitchen and a third … the young wizard merely took a peek, before closing it hastily. No, Snape's bedroom was certainly no place where he wanted to go.

Great … fine … well … now all Harry had to do, was find the man's journals. Not his private ones mind you, just his potion-related research. Hesitant, the young wizard entered the brewing room, somehow feeling like he was violating Snape's privacy on the level of looking into a pensive with the man's worst memories. Half-hearted, he reached for a leather-bound book but snapped it shut when discovering that it was a file on a little snake Snape had been responsible for. This felt so incredibly wrong! Of course, Harry needed these journals … the right ones at least, but how could he go through everything without betraying the trust of a person irrevocably dependant on him?

He was an Auror, used to efficiently going through the dirty laundry of anybody, in search for clues. But Snape was not a case. He was Harry's … guardian, the saviour of the wizarding world realised. The closest thing he had ever had to a father figure. Severus Snape had watched him grow up and had made an effort to keep Harry protected, no matter how strenuous the endeavour, or how thankless the task. Snape had done everything to keep Harry alive, even fought with his mentor when he understood that his charge was about to be slaughtered like a pig.

He had disciplined him and taught him what he had needed to know. Well, Snape had disliked him, of course, downright hated him at times. He had been mean and cutting in his comments and actions, but so had uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. A half choke, half sob tore out of Harry, the young wizard pulling his hair. How messed up was he, that the only person he now regarded with the uttermost respect, hated the very sight of him, while having saved and protected him all his life?

No, Harry decided, he could not betray Snape like that. The pensieve incident was enough. "Kreacher?"

Popping up on the table, the house-elf looked around. "Master Harry persuaded Hogwarts already. What does he need Kreacher for?"

Chuckling under his breath, since even properly bound, his elf had cut back on the sarcastic comments only a little. Harry gestured around himself. "I need every potion's journal and other publication in this room. Special emphasis on those that mention poisons or antidotes."

Looking around calculating, Kreacher inquired, "Does Master need the potions as well?"

"If you can bring them without causing them harm, then yes. I don't want to destroy anything or render it useless."

"Kreacher will have everything ready to be transported by owl. Magic transport could harm some of the potions."

Within twenty minutes, Kreacher had lined up a crate, and though most potions and books were conveniently labelled, Harry did not believe for one second, that every vial contained what the markings suggested. He would need a mass of school-owls to transport everything to London. Fortunately, since the feast and celebration were over, the owls might be free. Hopefully, Professor McGonagall would give her permission.

\--O-O--

"You've got to be kidding me," Draco deadpanned, his eyes roaming over the two dozen journals Harry had spread out before him. They were all labelled and sorted by date. In a brilliant stroke of inspiration - if Harry was allowed to say so himself - he had redacted all indications of the original author. Now, all he could do was hope that Draco could make sense of them.

"I have given you free reign in my library. But now I need you to go through all of these and research any form of antivenom and antidote mentioned."

Flinching ever so slightly, when being reminded about the amount of freedom he had been given until now, the blond looked over the journals. He was here as a servant; he had to remind himself once again. And if his master was giving him a task, he ought to be grateful that it was an interesting one. Reaching for the first volume, he leaved through the pages, slowing when he took in the handwriting. "Where did you get these?" He asked quietly but instinctively pulled back when Harry stated coldly, "That is none of your concern. Can you read these or not?"

He should not have asked. It would not do to anger his master. Terrible things happened to those who questioned their Lords. "How … how much time do I have?"

Inwardly cursing his defensiveness, Harry took a deep breath and softened his voice. "However long you need, Draco. I'd rather you do it carefully, with attention to details than rush through them."

Easing the tremors, he had forcefully suppressed until now, the blond nodded. "I'll do my best, my … Harry."

Gently touching the other wizard's shoulder, the raven-haired assured him, "I know, Draco, you always do."

\--O-O--

The rain was pouring down in buckets, when there was a heavy knock on the door of number 12 Grimmauld place, on the second of November. Narcissa and Lucius had retreated to the Manor after having celebrated All Hallows Eve with them. It was common amongst the purebloods to take a sabbatical the next day to remember their dead.

Harry and Draco had lit candles for all family members they had lost and had spent the day in quiet contemplation. Draco by getting an overview over the twenty-one books Harry had supplied. The raven-haired wizard lost in a publication on physical therapy for coma patients, Poppy had suggested to him on Halloween. Muggles, since they could not rely on magic, had found some truly ingenious ways to build up atrophied muscles and help relearn coordination. They would need this knowledge if … when their patient finally woke.

Now, a knock like a gunshot startled the wizards out of their reading. Trading a confused look, both got up and entered the hallway. Through the narrow windows, Harry had added on both sides of the front door, the raven-haired recognised the hunched figure, that let the rain pelt down on, though Grimmauld Place had a working floo. "Accio Single Malt." The young wizard cast, while approaching the entrance. Before opening it, he hesitated and looked at his blond live-in-house guest slash servant. "Got to your room, Draco, and don't come out, no matter what you hear."

"What?" The blond looked from Harry to the front door to the bottle and back.

The raven-haired, however, met his gaze stoically, emphasising. "Now, please."

Slowly pulling back, retreating up the stairs, Draco lingered at the top to find out what kind of guest had Harry all tense and loading up on muggle spirits.

Taking a deep breath, Harry opened the door and took in the despondent form of George Weasley. Leaning against the frame, the redhead looked at the smaller wizard, seemingly oblivious to the rain that had him soaked to the bones. Judging from the anguished in George's eyes, Harry could even believe that to be true.

The redhead's voice was a bare whisper when he shared, "She called me Fred, and I hate her so much for that, but I can't … I just can't …" he sobbed, finally allowing Harry to pull him into his arms. Letting the younger wizard, who had become his brother in everything but blood, hug him close, caressing his head, unconcerned of the scar where his left ear should be. To Harry, it had never mattered.

Of course, the 'Saviour of the Wizarding World' had drowned in his guilt, both for the loss of George's ear and of Fred during the Battle of Hogwarts. But George's chosen brother had made up for things that had never been his fault a hundred times over already, as the Weasley had explained to him after he had returned from his gap year.

George had always been absurdly grateful for Harry yelling at Molly and Arthur during their second Christmas after The Battle. The burrow had been unbearably suffocating for George, everybody treating him like glass whenever there was even a hint of his missing twin. Harry had watched him, all of them, until the raven-haired had lost his temper around midnight.

"Can't you all just fucking stop?!" He had yelled at them. "No, Fred is not here, but you all bloody act as if he never existed in the first place!"

"Harry!" Molly had gasped, helplessly gesturing towards the surviving twin.

"Yes! That's George. Do you even recognise him, since you have not looked at him all day?"

It had felt so unbelievably good, so good that someone had finally given voice to everything that was tearing George apart. But it had also felt horrible because his mother had looked so gutted for being shouted at. "Harry, please, …" He had tried to ease the younger wizard's fury. "Mum's just … it's hard for her to look at me and see him!" George had tried to explain, but Harry had gotten in his face so fast, that even the tall redhead had staggered back.

"Bullshit! That's bullshit, George, and if you would stop making excuses for her and everybody else, you would see that. You were identical; I know that we all know that since you enjoyed toying with people, posing as the other. But she is your mother. Looking at you, she should see George and nobody else! Fred is gone and deserves to be remembered. And you are here and deserve to live and be seen!" Turning around, watching the other Weasleys and Hermione, he had challenged, "Or does a single one of you believe that **this** is what Fred would want, no matter where he is?"

The atmosphere in the room had been so thick, that you could have cut it with a knife. Nobody seemed to know where to go from there until Ron chuckled unexpectantly. "You hated cauliflower and Fred abhorred broccoli when we were kids. Every time we had one or the other, both of you smuggled the vegetable onto my plate."

"You always used the light-brown oil to polish your broom and Freddy used the dark one. It was easy to tell them apart." Ginny recalled, smiling at the memory.

"You always used Fred's," George remembered, smiling despite the tears that were slowly rolling down his cheeks.

Rising to hug her brother, the girl revealed, "Because you were always sloppy polishing yours and I would get oil all over my clothes. Mum never caught me, when I used Fred's."

"Accio Fred's sock," Mr Weasley mumbled, allowing his wife to fill it up, before hanging it on the mantlepiece.

The others had been caught up in recalling the many differences between the twins, reminding themselves that Fred and George had very much been their own person, despite their appearance and general interests. The surviving twin had stepped up to their mother, who had caressed his brother's sock. "Mum, I …"

He had started, but she had turned around and had hugged him close. "I'm sorry, Georgie, I'm so incredibly sorry. I thank Merlin and Morgana every day that you survived The Battle unharmed, and I should have never let you believe otherwise." Caressing his face, Molly kissed her son's face and assured him, "I'm eternally grateful that you are here with us and I apologise that I let you believe otherwise, even for a second. I miss your brother every day, but I still love you more than I will ever be able to express."

Shivering his mother's arms, George had finally been able to let go. Clawing at her robe, he had sobbed, "I miss him so much, mum. Sometimes I don't know how I can go on without him."

"We're here for you, baby," she had assured him. "We'll always be there for you to help you through."

\--O-O--

Things had gotten better after that. Ron had doubled his efforts in the shop, enabling George to buy Zonko's in Hogsmeade the following summer. Molly had made a conscious effort to keep Fred's memory alive. All the Weasley's had in fact, and it had helped, but there were still days like today, where everything was so much worse, and the shadows of a trickster brother suffocated them instead of helping them remember.

That's why Draco Malfoy made a conscious effort to creep up the stairs to the second landing, trying his best not to draw the attention of either Harry or the sobbing redhead that clung to him. The pureblood had never had a brother. He had made himself a family in a few of the other Slytherins of his year. Losing Crabbe had been … for years afterwards he had blamed himself, had had nightmares that rivalled those of the Dark Lord, where he saw his best friend fall into the fire he had conjured himself. But in the end, Crabbe had been a friend, not a brother by blood … not a twin like Fred Weasley. So, in a way, he was grateful that he had been an only child. Hearing the anguish in George's sobs, when losing his flesh and blood was enough to take his breath away.

Closing the door of his room behind himself, Draco burrowed under the covers, even turning on the wireless. Anything to block out the noises that came from the third floor.

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And so Death took the second brother for his own," the redhead finished for him. "You know the entire tale by heart, don't you?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a long moment of silence before George spoke up. "There were once three brothers, who were travelling on a lonely road at midnight. They came to a dangerous river and cheated Death of their lives by conjuring a bridge. Death was angry but cunning, so he offered them gifts as a reward for having beaten him. The oldest brother demanded a wand, powerful enough to defeat all others. The second brother longed for a girl, taken before her time, so he wanted a stone to bring back the dead. The third brother was the smartest and asked for a cloak to hide him from Death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one point in this chapter, Harry is really, really sad. But I can promise you, there is nothing more to it than that.

"I'm me! How can she not see that?" George shouted, throwing the tumbler against the wall, Harry had used to serve him. It shattered into a thousand pieces, and the raven-haired very much doubted that he would be able to repair that particular glass. Not even with magic. Not that it mattered. "She calls me Fred and then looks so damn guilty that I can't even call her out on it! And I hate her for that, Harry!" He turned his blood-shot gaze on the other wizard who sat on the bed, watching him patiently. Obviously, the alcohol just consumed had not been the first of the day for George, as the young man was wobbling considerably when he slurred, "I hate her so much because she hurts as much as I do, so I can't even scream at her."

"Would that make you feel better?" The younger wizard inquired, summoning a new glass, helping himself to another finger of whiskey. "Is it really Molly you want to scream at?"

"Yes! … No! … Bloody hell!" George hissed, closing his eyes against the pain that seemed too big to suffer. "He should have dodged; thrown up a shield; blasted these cursed stones to pieces; really anything but laughing while being killed by blunt force trauma.

"How could he, Harry? Why did it have to be him and not Bill, or Charlie, or Percy, or …"

"Don't," Harry hissed, interrupting George with vicious fury, making him look up in wonder. Until now, his little not-brother had always taken anything George had thrown his way, calmly. He had suffered through his tantrums for the last five years. He held him through his tears and had helped him nurse the inevitable hangover George suffered the next day. Not once had he reprimanded the redhead. But now there was a fire in Harry's eyes, as he shoved his index-finger into George's chest. Hard! "Don't you dare say 'Ron'. You have no right to trade your brother for mine, not even in your mind! Do you understand? What would …"

"What would Fred say?" George spat out venomously, glaring down at the other. "That's the whole damn point of this! Don't you get it? I have no clue what Freddy would say! What he would say about our latest line of protective wristbands for the Ministry or my idea of expanding to France. I don't know, Harry, because my brother is dead!"

Shaking his head, Harry replied quietly. "That's not what I was about to say."

"No?" George challenged, folding his arms, glaring. He wanted this fight, needed it because it seemed to be the only way to get rid of all the pain that filled his heart every day he woke up without his twin by his side.

Looking up at the redhead, Harry made a conscious effort to relax and not poise for combat when he asked, "What would Ron feel if he heard you talk like this? Your youngest brother gave up the chance of a promising Ministry career - because let me tell you, Ron had both the mind **and** the skill-set to become an Auror - to help you. To fill the hole Fred has left in your life. This man works for you, twelve hours a day. He renegotiates your contracts with the ministry, to maximise your sales figures. Ron found suppliers and delivery companies in France on the off-chance that you **want** to take the risk of expanding beyond the channel.

"He neglected to accept Fred's part of the company, because no matter what he does, no matter how much work he puts into it, he knows that he will never live up to Fred's legacy, and he does it still. So, don't you dare trade Ron for Fred. Not even for a heartbeat. He deserves so much better than that. Especially from you!"

And George deflated like a balloon. Tonelessly he inquired, "How do you know that?"

"Because I am talking to my best friend; more than you are talking to the brother you spend time with ten hours a day."

Sinking to the carpet, cradling his pounding head, George muttered, "I think a need a glass of water."

"Aguamenti." Filling the remaining tumbler, Harry handed it over, gently caressing the redhead's neck. "I know it hurts, George. But it's time for you to see what you have, instead of clinging to what you have lost."

"I don't feel so good," George whispered, tiling sideways until he lay curled up on the plush carpet of Harry's bedroom. Hesitantly he put his head in the raven-haired's lap. After a minute, Harry sighed and started carding his fingers through the unruly strands. Leaning back against his bed, the young man pulled down the comforter and wrapped it around his trembling friend.

About an hour later, George asked quietly, "Do you think it hurt? Dying I mean?"

Breathing through the painful memories, rubbing his fist over his chest, Harry shook his head and breathed out, "No, … it's quicker and easier than falling asleep."

"That's good …" the other wizard nodded. After a while, he whispered. "I could not even say goodbye, you know. He was there, right by my side, as always, and then he just wasn't. From one second to the next he was just … gone."

'You can slip it into your pocket or throw it into the lake. The choice is yours.' Harry recalled. What if he had chosen wrong? Was there even a wrong choice? The Hallows had no place amongst the living. Death and destruction had lined their paths through the centuries. At least Harry had destroyed the Elder Wand. Possessing a weapon stronger than all others … that was just asking for trouble. The cloak he had been unable to give away, muss less destroy. It was the only item connecting him to his parents … his father. But the stone … it was dangerous, seductive in the wrong hands. Death had a way to demand his toll. But Harry had been able to choose. Didn't anybody deserve that chance?

Untangling the messy strands on George's head, he wanted to know, "Do you remember the Tale of the Three Brothers? Ron told me that your mum read it to you when you were little."

There was a long moment of silence before George spoke up. "There were once three brothers, who were travelling on a lonely road at midnight. They came to a dangerous river and cheated Death of their lives by conjuring a bridge. Death was angry but cunning, so he offered them gifts as a reward for having beaten him. The oldest brother demanded a wand, powerful enough to defeat all others. The second brother longed for a girl, taken before her time, so he wanted a stone to bring back the dead. The third brother was the smartest and asked for a cloak to hide him from Death."

"Three powerful magical objects. Can you recall how their story ended?"

"The first brother got killed after taking his revenge and boasting about it. The second killed himself because while he could see his lost love, he could not be with her since she was dead, and he wasn't. But the third brother attained a great age and only removed the cloak when he was ready to greet Death as an old friend."

Stretching towards his nightstand, Harry retrieved the snitch he had inherited from Dumbledore. An artefact that now was exactly like it had been the day he had received it. Sitting up, his friend seemed confused about their change of subject, but content to wait until his smallest not-brother was ready to explain. "You got it right, you know? The tale of the Deathly Hallows. Together they make their owner the Master of Death."

"Harry?" George asked hesitantly, but the other wizard did not even look up from the toy in his hand.

"If you possess them the moment you die, Death will come to you and greet you like an old friend. He will give you a choice, to go on, or to return to life."

Anxiously the redhead demanded to know, "What are you talking about?" Reaching for the young wizard who had become his brother-by-choice, not liking at all this talk about dying and going on. He could not lose another brother. Not now. Not so soon after Fred.

Looking up, offering a smile that was more a grimace, the 'chosen one' continued. "Voldemort didn't lie, you know; when he boasted about killing me the day of The Battle. He cast a killing curse that night in the forest, but I chose to come back, to fight and to save as many as I could." Tears gathered in Harry's eyes when they met George's. "And I am so sorry, so sorry that I could not save Fred. You have to believe me!"

Pulling the young man in, reversing their positions from the beginning of the evening, George rubbed the younger man's back soothingly. "I know, Harry. We have talked about this, remember? I know you are not to blame. It was Fred's and my decision to be there, to fight by your side because frankly, anything else was out of the question."

Clenching the snitch so hard it was leaving marks on his palm, Harry forced himself to pull back and finish his explanation. "I used the Elder Wand to repair my own; then I destroyed it. I still have the cloak, Death's cloak I guess you can call it and two days ago … two days ago, the stone came back to me. I wanted to throw it away, but then I thought it might have come back to me for a reason."

"Harry," George interrupted concerned. "The Tale of the Three Brothers is a myth. It's not real. The Hallows don't exist, they …"

As if the other was not even speaking, the raven-haired asked, "So you can't recall an invisibility cloak? One that's power hasn't faded, doesn't waver but hides his carrier entirely?"

"Yes," the redhead sighed exasperated, "of course I remember your cloak, but that does not mean that the rest is real."

Kissing the snitch, Harry watched it open and let the stone fall into his hand. He expected to feel dread, fear, maybe longing, but there was only gratitude. George meanwhile had barged on, " Dumbledore's wand was powerful because its owner was a powerful wizard. But the Resurrection Stone … that's madness! Please, Harry, you have to see that!"

Turning the stone in his hand, Harry closed his eyes and blindly reached out for George's hand to cover his own. He did not want to see his family again, scared to succumb to the allure of the dead. They were all waiting for him, patient and proud; it was enough to know that. Clearing his mind again, he opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of a pale figure before looking at his friend. Calmly, Harry told him, "I can't give you your brother back. No magic on earth is capable of that, believe me, I've looked. But what I can give you, is a chance to say goodbye."

"Hello, Georgie, long time no see."

"Fred," George choked on a sob, instinctively closing his hand around the stone, pulling it from Harry's grasp. The last thing the raven-haired saw, was Fred winking at him with a mischievous smile, before fading from view.

Harry threw up his strongest privacy wards, before wrapping himself in a thick blanket, sliding down his bedroom door in the corridor. He would give George all night with his twin, hoping that it would be enough for him to find closure.

\--O-O--

"Harry? … Harry!" A gentle hand was shaking him.

"G'rg?" The young wizard blinked sleepily at the upside-down face behind him. It was still dark outside, pitch black, in fact, so morning could not be that far off.

"Freddie told me to give you this." Opening his hand, Harry recognised the Resurrection Stone. Patting down his trousers for the snitch, George shook his head. "No, he said that you should take it and not to worry, he would keep the others at bay."

Reluctantly, the 'chosen one' opened his hand and allowed his friend to let the stone fall in.

"I'll take a shower now and then go to bed." George informed him before retreating into the bedroom.

When Harry dared to look up, he found Fred Weasley crouched down before him. He had to fight down the pain that welled up in his heart upon seeing the other wizard who had risked life and limb to save him after his first year at Hogwarts. "Fred, I'm so …"

But the ghostly figure interrupted him. "Don't, Harry. I know George has talked to you about it already, but to make sure that you really get it: What happened to me is not on you!"

"But if I had been a little faster; found the Horcrux just a little sooner …"

"There would still have been a reckoning. And I would have still stood by your side. Oh, Harry, …" Reaching out as if to offer comfort, Fred clenched his fists when he remembered that he couldn't any longer. "It was my decision, always has been. And even if I had known what would come of it, I would not change a thing. I don't regret it for a second. I'm just here to tell you thanks. Thank you, for everything you have done for my brothers and everything you still do. Please tell Ron 'thank you' as well, he might not have my charm and wits, and especially not my good looks, but with him at Georgie's side, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes will become more successful than it could have ever been with me. He's so smart and resourceful, with him, George can achieve anything. And tell him to stop feeling guilty and accept the bloody partnership! They make enough money to still feed the fund, even with him taking his rightful due." Looking over Harry's shoulder, Fred hesitated before gazing at Harry once more. "There is just one last thing, a message from Lily. Are you ready to hear it?"

Thinking of his mother and how she would judge everything Harry had done, the young man nodded reluctantly.

Relieved, Fred smiled. "She said to tell you 'thank you' for doing what she could not because of her stupid pride."

Choking out a sob, the raven-haired pressed his hands to his mouth to muffle the relieved keen that rose in his throat.

Swallowing down the pain of seeing his little should-be-brother like that, Fred forced a cocky smile. "Since we're all up to speed, you can end the call now, oh, chosen one. Just remember, we're always there, and we love you. All of us."

"Fred," Harry wailed, clutching the trinket in his hand, reaching out for the ghost. But in the end, he merely mirrored Fred's former gesture before letting his hand fall.

"You don't need it any longer, Harry. Please, let go and go to bed."

Tilting his hand, the young wizard watched his friend fade away. The last time, the stone had given him the strength to do what had to be done. This time … it felt like losing Fred all over again. Through teary eyes, he watched George capture the little gem in its protective casing and then allowed the redhead to pull him into bed. Harry was grateful for the messages, but on nights like these, he sometimes wished for everything to be over, so he could finally be with his family again.

\--O-O--

Neither of the three wizards at the breakfast table looked particularly well rested. Harry and George because … well, ghosts of the past did not make for particularly restful company. And Draco because … hearing angry shouting and glass crashing had made him pace his room all evening. He had even opened his door, hovered in the dark to find out if he was needed. What he ought to have done when it came to handle two angry wizards, especially without a wand, had remained a mystery. Still, the blond had been determined not to let Harry face any potential danger alone. So, he had hovered at the door, listening and waiting until he had fallen asleep on the cushioned chair beside it.

George waking Harry at an ungodly hour had alerted him as well. When the redhead had guided his friend back into the bedroom, nudging the door shut behind them, Draco had finally crawled back into bed. No, he had not wanted Harry to hover over him like he was some prized possession. But watching the string of Weasleys walk into the raven-haired's bed, he wondered if it would have been so bad. At least then he would not have to feel so lonely any longer.

So, as soon as he was finished his oatmeal and tea, Draco excused himself from the table with a quiet, "I'll be in the library, should you need me."

"K'," Harry mumbled, not even looking not even looking up from his coffee.

George, however, was more perceptive. He had recognised the emotion in Draco's eyes, as well as the glares the blond had thrown his way when he and Harry had entered a few minutes prior. Since his little not-brother seemed oblivious - as always when things concerned his person - George was not sure if it was his place to say anything.

Yes, Draco was jealous. But since he had bound himself to Harry in servitude, their relationship was complicated enough. No need to throw a wrench into it. Those two had displayed near-obsessive behaviour all through school. Certainly, they were able to work things out. Maybe he should talk to Ginny? If she nudged Harry in the right direction, nothing would indicate George's involvement. He did not even know if Harry swung that way and certainly had no intention of discussing it!

"Do you remember what happened to the second brother?" The raven-haired wizard asked out of the blue.

"Death got him, in the end. He got all three."

Nodding tiredly, Harry recited. "Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry before her untimely death, appeared at once before him. Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her."

"And so Death took the second brother for his own," the redhead finished for him. "You know the entire tale by heart, don't you?"

Looking at his friend, Harry shrugged. "If your whole life was so tangled up in it, wouldn't you too?"

"Probably," George shook his head, thinking about how he could ease the other's obvious concern. "Do you know what Fred did, the first hour after you gave me the stone?"

Wordlessly, Harry shook his head.

"He bit off my head and chewed me out for the incredible amount of self-pity I am wallowing in. Then he made me memorise a complete list of everything our little Ronikins has done for our shop and me and drove the message home of how much of an ungrateful bastard I have been for taking him for granted. Basically, he told me the same you did, just in greater detail, with the thread of a few hexes thrown in for good measure."

"So, you were not happy to see him." Harry paled. He had wanted to give George closure, not a vengeful ghost who cursed him.

Laughing, because his little raven-haired brother could not be more wrong, the twin shook his head empathically. "I was ecstatic! You have to understand. Freddie and I were tricksters, pranking people left and right, bullshitting our way out of trouble. But when we were alone, we were always honest with each other. Fred said what I needed to hear because apart from you last night, nobody ever dared to call me out on the shit I have done. Not even Lee, and while he gave me massive pointers, he always makes sure not to come between my family and me.

"Harry, words will never be able to express how grateful I am for what you have done for me. Maybe I will ask you to borrow the stone in five years, or in ten or fifty or not at all. Fred made it very clear, that our talk was a one-time thing and that I better be damn grateful for every single family member who made it out of this war alive. I needed that. I'll always miss my twin. But it's okay now. I will thrive to show the rest of my family how much I appreciate them."

"Ron's pregnant again!" Harry burst out, hitting his head to the table. That information had not been his to disclose, but after talking about such sad topics for so long, he had felt the need to show George that they all had a bright light in the future ahead of them.

Chuckling, George lifted his cup in a silent toast. "For the sake of my brother, I hope that Hermione is."

"Yes, of course, you know what I mean!"

"I do indeed, and don't worry, Harry. Ron will get his due. Regarding money and appreciation of his services." Then George rose from the breakfast-table. "I'll see myself out. And you should check on your pet-dragon. He barely at a thing."

"He rarely does, since I'm not sleeping with him any longer." Harry rose as well.

At George's inquiring gaze, the raven-haired's brain finally caught up with his mouth, and his cheeks burned up a flaming red. "I mean … I … we're not …" Harry stammered, but the redhead only slapped his back.

"You know, I don't even want to know." Pulling the smaller wizard into a hug, George whispered, "Thank you, Harry. I really appreciate it."

Then he left through the living-room floo.

Harry made sure that Emerald was filled in his magic, before ordering Kreacher to fix a chicken-sandwich and a steaming cup of tea for Malfoy. Then he left for work, seeing no reason to disturb Draco in his vitally important studies.

\--O-O--

>Dragon's Sleeping Slushy<

A childish name for a mild calming draught, or so Draco thought. Still, the name; memories of scents; the taste of some of the ingredients; soothing hands caressing his head; these memories were important yet hovering out of reach. Draco just could not lay his finger on the why. Still, he recognised the recipe for what it was, and since it did not fall into the category of potions his master had set him upon, he turned the page.

These journals were brilliant! Every Potion Master in the United Kingdom would kill … well, maybe not kill but seriously maim or injure to get their hands on them. And Draco - an Ex-Death Eater without a wand - had the honour of reviewing them. Draco knew that this knowledge was wasted on him. Still, he was too selfish to reveal that to Harry. He had only been instructed to do research. He certainly did not need a wand for that.

Over the weeks, the recipes grew even more familiar with each passing journal. Draco recognised variations of potions he had been taught at Hogwarts. When he asked Harry for an old potion's book from school, the wizard produced it within minutes. Comparing the two, Draco then understood why the formulas seemed so familiar, and a terrible suspicion started to grow.

\--O-O--

"Are you sure that's a good idea, mate?" Ron sipped his beer, playing with Hermione's locks while she was leaning against him.

"Not a clue." Harry beamed, holding out his arms for the curly-haired redhead, who clung to Neville's hands for dear life. "Come on, Rose," he encouraged.

"Go on, little flower," Neville urged, nodding at the toddler who looked up at him somewhat doubtful. "You can do it. Go to Harry."

With bated breath, the two Aurors watched their friend's firstborn narrow her eyes, before letting go of the brunet's hands and walk the steps towards Harry, who scooped her up and started a victory dance through the garden.

Getting up from the floor, Neville claimed one of the comfortable garden-chairs and took a sip of his beer. "It might not be the smartest idea," he admitted. "But Malfoy has advised our Department of Magical Law on two more cases since Lostrife and thought he last one wasn't a rousing success; he was distinctively helpful. Wasn't he, Hermione?"

Caressing her small baby-bump, something she hid at work but showed off at home, the young witch nodded. "My department-head always was a stickler for justice. As long as Lucius plays by the rules, he is willing to accept his help. Not everything is black and white. Barrister Thomson knows that."

Handing over Rose, when she made grabby hands for her dad, Harry sank down on the couch beside his best friends and started to rub Hemione's shins. Blissfully, the witch closed her eyes. "If we want to get it into the heads of the people that even Death Eaters can be redeemed, we have to put the Malfoys on display. Share all the good they have done, …"

"… and prove that they defer to Harry, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, to put people's mind at ease." Neville finished. "We have already gotten Robarts' permission."

">If you are so set on doing this, at least do it in a setting where half the Auror Corp is present. I don't want any more trouble with your charges!<" Harry imitated their superior. "Still, it would help if they were on the arm of one 'hero' or the other."

"So, you're selling us out for our hero-status." Ron deadpanned. "Low blow, mate, really low."

Throwing one of the carrot-sticks at Ron, Hermione had put out as snacks, Harry grinned, "If I have to suffer, so do you! You are one third of the 'golden trio' after all."

Throwing back the stick, a tiny food-fight broke out, until Hermione put an end to it.

"So," she summarised. "Me with Lucius, Ron with Narcissa and who gets Draco?"

"I will," Harry mumbled, diving under the table for a few of the vegetables.

"People might get ideas," Ron gave cause for concern.

"Let them," Neville shrugged, picking celery out of Harry's hair. "The tighter they believe Draco to be bound to Harry, the less fuss they will make."

"Lucius has the chain around his neck, but Draco, …" The witch looked at her friend calculating. "You **want** them to get the wrong idea to give him more freedom. Once they are convinced that he is but your 'love interest', he won't be under such close scrutiny. He can do what he wants without people getting instantly suspicions, maybe even …" she studied her friend. "You think he will be able to brew the potion."

"What potion?" Neville demanded to know.

"An antidote," Harry nodded slowly. "And yes, that's exactly what I want him to do."

"For whom?" When the 'golden trio' exchanged hesitant glances, Neville groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I know that look. That's the same look you had when going after that cursed stone in first year."

"Neville, I …" Harry started but did not really know how to offer an explanation without revealing secrets that were not his to share.

"Don't!" His partner interrupted him harshly. "I'd rather you tell me nothing than make up a story for my sake. Just tell me one thing: if you succeed, will all the scheming and the secrecy be worth it?"

Closing his eyes against the rising hope that this would not become yet another useless attempt to make things right, Harry nodded decisively before looking at his friend. "If we succeed, it will be worth it a hundred times over."

"I don't like it!" The brunet Auror clarified. "But I trust you, Hermione especially. Just promise me, you will tell me before the storm hits."

Smiling at their friend, Hermione nodded, " **When** we succeed, we will want to shout it from the roof of Hogwarts. Telling you will be no hardship."

\--O-O--

"I need to know what kind of poison this is about," Draco stated one evening during dinner. It was one of the rare occasions that Harry had actually been on time for them to share the meal. Apparently, the week leading up to Yule was high time for smugglers, and the Auror Corp was working themselves to the bones.

Still, sixteen to eighteen hours emerged in potion-journals with little sleep, left Draco to feel as irritable and exhausted as Harry looked. He was well aware that his master staggered through the floo in the middle of the night. Only to get a few hours of sleep, before leaving again after a short shower and an even shorter meal. Secretly, Draco suspected, that it was the only meal Harry got each day, snacks like sandwiches and biscuits not counting. Still, he was working his ass off in the Black Library, studying journals neither he nor Potter had any right to touch. And slowly Draco had the feeling that he was becoming the lead-expert on antidotes, despite being unable to brew a single one of them to test that theory. It was beyond frustrating.

At least as frustrating as hearing, "Sorry, I can't tell you."

" That's a load of bollocks!" Draco exploded. "You can't throw these journals at me and expect me to acquire any knowledge without telling me what this is all about! If that's how it is going to be, do it yourself!" Pushing back his chair so fast it toppled over, the blond glared down at the raven-haired. He shivered when thunderstorm eyes met stone-cold green. Not even bothering to rise, Harry replied evenly, "Neither do I have the time, nor the nerve to deal with your little tantrum, Malfoy. I'll leave now to get some work done, and when I return, you can tell me if you wish for me to release you from your vow, or if you want to act like the adult you presumably are."

Slowly getting up, the Auror folded his napkin, Narcissa had trained him into using, taking a perverse pleasure in Draco paling, and backing up. However, as soon as Harry entered his office, seeing the mounting files about a smuggling ring that dealt in unicorn-blood, he screamed and shoved the entire stack off his desk. His pencil cup and tea-set followed. Harry was breathing hard, when Neville entered the office a minute later, kettle in hand.

"It seems that camomile tea is the choice of the hour," his partner commented drily, conjuring water before setting the kettle on the stove.

"Fuck," Harry mumbled exhausted, sinking down on the sofa, closing his eyes.

"Trouble in paradise?" Neville inquired, handing over a cup of tea, heavily laced with honey.

"Draco mouthed off, and I jumped down his throat. This case is killing me, Neville. Too many bad memories."

Sitting down beside his friend and partner, the other Auror knew better than to suggest for them to hand over the case. This had long since become far too personal to not see it though. "What about we crack this case, throw some wizard into a deep, dark cell where the sun never shines, and then you apologise to your pet potioneer?"

Smiling at his friend, because - as always - Neville knew what to say, Harry drained his cup. He winched when he scalded his tongue but readily took the suggestion. "Let's do that. Maybe we have been looking at this from the wrong angle, anyway. While it's important to find their suppliers, let's start at the beginning: Where in Albion do Unicorns live?"

Smiling at that approach, Neville rose from the couch and held out his hand. "Well, we might need an expert for that."

"Do we have an expert on Unicorns?" Harry wanted to know, weaving his wand over the mess he had made and cleaned up his desk at the same time.

Pulling on his robe, the former Gryffindor shook his head and chuckled. "Of course, we have. Come on, genius. Let's go visit Hagrid."

With a beaming smile, Harry put an arm around his partner and laughed, "You, my friend, are brilliant!"

Grinning, the brunet replied, "Whatever would you do without me?"

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then - after finally having hope for the first time in so long - Harry made a crucial mistake.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took us 18 chapters, but finally, the patient on the third floor gets a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regression to the mean. At least for one pairing.

Bruise Salve

Contraceptive Potion {daily consumption recommended}

Wolfsbane

Antivenom {suitable for magical beasts (Nagini?)}

With trembling fingers, Draco closed the second to last journal. He had not wanted to believe that Potter would betray their teacher’s trust, but proof to the contrary lay spread out before him. The blond had spent quite some time these last few weeks rationalising away similarities between the recipes in these books, and the potions he had been taught at Hogwarts. But now Draco was at the end of his tether. One way or the other, he and Potter had to come clean.

The raven-haired in question was knocking on the doors of the library not a minute later, a mewling Emerald in his arms. "Dinner will start in a minute. Are you ready?"

Looking at the familiar potion recipes one last time, Draco caressed the clean lines of the notes. How he could not have recognised them right from the beginning was beyond him. Maybe he just had not wanted to know. Well, not any longer. Nodding, he confirmed, "I am ready."

He followed Harry at a sedated pace, while the exhausted Auror cooed over their elven-infant. Emerald was growing quickly, reaching Kreacher's waist already. But she would need a few more months with Harry before her magic could sustain itself.

How could Potter be like that, the Slytherin wondered.

Caring and supportive of the smallest of creatures, while at the same time betraying the trust of a person who had protected him his entire life. Of course, the Potion Master and the infamous Harry Potter had never gotten along. But after speaking so passionately at Severus' posthumous trial, getting the Ministry to award an Order of Merlin Second Class, Draco had assumed the 'Saviour' to have more respect for the man's property. However, maybe he was expecting too much. After all, Potter had him searching for antivenoms. So there had to be an important poison victim somewhere.

In the kitchen, the other wizard traded Emerald for a pot of stew with freshly baked bread and promptly started to wolf down his portion. Inevitably, his housemate asked himself if he had seen the other at breakfast but could not recall any interaction after the first meal yesterday morning. "How is your case going?"

"Exhausting," Harry mumbled around a piece of bread before forcing it down. "Sorry," he used the napkin – Narcissa would be so proud – before replying. "Neville and I were at the office until 3 a.m. Then we took a cat-nap on our couch. After tea and a biscuit, we started revising evidence from again at 8 a.m. Had Robarts not kicked us out an hour ago, we would still be at it."

"Hm …" Draco replied non-committedly before going for the kill. "I need a sample of the venom you want me to counter."

As expected, Harry started a coughing fit when a piece of meat went down the wrong way. Ignoring his opposites obvious discomfort, Draco explained calmly. "To have me research anti-venoms, you need to have a victim. Extract the poison, and I might be able to help."

"You … could?"

There was this damn hopeful look in Potter's eyes, and for a moment, Draco had to remind himself, that the raven-haired still had no right to make Severus Snape's research public, that he was angry at him for his indiscretion. Even if it was only in the privacy of his own home.

"I … we can't do that. The venom can't be extracted. It kind of breaks down as soon as it's separated from the blood."

"Get me the blood then."

"You really think you can do it? How long … what would you need? I can get you anything!" Harry replied eagerly, but the blond brushed him off.

"Let's start with the blood and then we'll see."

And then - after finally having hope for the first time in so long - Harry made a crucial mistake. "I've got some, upstairs, in my room! Let me just get it for you!"

Dumbfounded, Draco looked after him and inevitably asked himself, why the Auror would have a blood sample of a random poison-victim in his room. Then he realised: Harry wouldn't. He would not have a blood sample of a random stranger in his room. It made no sense for him to store blood at all. Hence, he would not do that. That, however, led to another revelation:

Harry Potter would not betray the trust of a person, who had protected him his entire life!

He would, most definitely, not disrespect Severus Snape to the point of 'publishing' his journals.

And, all of a sudden, everything fell into place. "Thank you for dinner," Draco directed towards the house elf, before slowly pushing back his chair to make his way up to the third floor.

\--O-O--

Harry was just leaving the second bedroom, a vial full of dark-red liquid in his trembling fingers. His wand was out, pointing at Draco's chest faster than one could say 'Expelliarmus'. "You are not allowed …"

"No!" Draco interrupted him decisively, stepping even closer until the holly-wand touched his throat. "You lost the right to keep me away the moment you gave me his journals."

Harry's miniscule flinch was all the confirmation Draco needed. Confidently, he soldiered on, "So if you want me to continue my research … **his** research, you will step aside and let me see my godfather!"

"Draco, I …" the raven-haired protested, clutching the doorknob so tightly as if his life depended on it. But once again, the blond cut him off.

"You can hex me six ways to Sunday, later. I would not even care. But right this second, Potter, you will get out of my way and open that bloody door!"

For a minute, there was a standstill where the two wizards merely looked at each other, before Harry slowly lowered his wand and opened the passage, to reveal the unmoving form of one Severus Snape.

Entering the room somewhat hesitantly, Draco whispered, "He looks so cold."

Quietly, Harry contradicted, "He is not cold. He has pyjamas and socks. There are warming, and a cooling-charms woven into his blankets, and Kreacher is under strict orders to have the fire in this room going from October to April."

Creeping closer to the bed, Draco reached for his godfather's hand. Sinking into the armchair beside it, he brought it up to his cheek.

"He moved!" Draco whipped around. "His fingers, when they touched my face! He must recognise me."

"I know," Harry sighed exhausted, sinking against the doorframe. He remembered all too easily the feeling of excitement that accompanied every motion of his patient, but, "Emilia says it's only involuntary spasms. Apparently, that's common with coma patients."

"Emilia?" The blond wondered but then turned back towards the man on the bed, studying the pale form, the barely scabbed over bites at his neck, he concluded. "The medi-witch that comes in every day."

"Yes, she is Poppy's cousin and specialised in the care of wizards like him."

When Draco did not reply for an extended amount of time, Harry moved closer. He put a gentle hand on the blond's shoulder and urged, "Nobody can know about this, Draco. That is really important! Not even your parents! Do you understand?"

Not taking his eyes off the patient, the other nodded reluctantly. "Who knows?"

"Emilia … obviously. Poppy, McGonagall, Hemione and Ron."

"How?"

"Ron and Hermione were with me when Tom's vision directed me to the boathouse. Hermione thought fast enough on her feet, to cast a stasis charm on him as soon as he had given me the memory. She most likely saved his life, or so Poppy said. Poppy stabilised him properly but told us, that she had no way of curing Nagini's venom. She knew, however, of an ancient ritual, that would put him in an enchanted sleep so deep, that it would put his metabolism to nearly a full stop, giving us time to find an antidote. With her stabilising him, we needed four people for the cardinal points of the ritual. McGonagall helped."

"Why?"

"Because we could not let him die."

"No," Draco shook his head, finally tearing his eyes away from his 'not dead' godfather, and towards the wizard who held both of their lives in his hands. "Why is he here? I thought you two hated each other."

Laughing bitterly, Harry turned away. Slipping onto the window-sill, he preferred on star-filled nights. For a while, he pondered how to explain himself.

"We did … maybe he does still. I don't know. But … in that shack, after Nagini's bite, he gave me some memories. One of them was really important … as in … important for me to know so we had even the faintest hope of winning. Others … I don't know if he offered them on purpose, or if they were just emotionally linked to the scene in Dumbledore's office he needed me to see."

Draco did not understand, a glance at the other wizard told Harry as much. No wonder, he was babbling … explaining a decision he had barely processed himself. However, since the blond seemed ready to give him time to sort through his thoughts, Harry scrubbed over his face and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. "I saw his past. He was best friends with my mum, did you know that?"

Draco shook his head. Still, the Gryffindor merely shrugged. "It doesn't matter now, I guess … or it matters more than anything else, I honestly don't know any longer."

Losing his patience, Draco interrupted, "None of this, answers my question about him being here of all places. He should be at St. Mungos or any other clinic!"

Snorting, the raven-haired drawled, "Yes, I can see that going exceptionally well. He is still a Death Eater as far as the general public is concerned … still, the man who killed Albus Dumbledore. People are resentful, stupid and vindictive!"

When the blond sneered, "How would you know? You're the darling of the wizarding world!"

Harry merely raised his eyebrows and challenged. "Thinking back to the summer after fourth year, don't you think that I know that better than most?"

Though Draco made an acquiescent gesture, he stated, "You're stalling!"

Tousling his already messed up hair, the young wizard looked at his live-in patient, and Draco's breath caught in his throat at the amount of pain and longing in the other's eyes. "He's here because I want him to have a chance. Severus Snape and I are not so different when you think about it.

"We both grew up … grew up in abusive households. Once at Hogwarts we were forced to make decisions, depending on the expectations of our peers. Snape was never rich enough, his blood never pure enough to satisfy those expectations. Tom gave him a chance to be more … more than a poor half-blood without any prospects. He became a formidable Potion Master and a great man, who did the right thing despite the excruciating costs it demanded of him."

"He'll have no money," Draco's mind inevitably jumped to practical concerns, and he was surprised when the raven-haired snickered. Surely Potter had no intentions of sponsoring the man. Severus would never stand for it. So, the blond was surprised at the easy reply, "No, but you do."

"Excuse me?"

"The Order of Merlin 2nd Class is heavily notated. I made sure the money went to the Prince vault. A vault you now own since you were his godson and thus his only heir."

A realisation dawned, "You've planned this. Right from the beginning!"

Nodding slowly, Harry looked from Snape to Draco. "Yes. Now all I need is a potioneer with enough heart for the craft to wake him up. Hermione succeeds at everything she sets her mind upon. Ron and George have become brilliant at brewing, but neither of the three has the heart of a true master. The question is, do you, Draco? Do you have enough heart and genius and compassion to save your godfather?"

Looking from Harry to Severus, brushing a kiss over the man's knuckles before putting his hand back on the bed, Draco held out his own hand for the vial of blood Harry was still clutching so hard as if his life depended on it. Closing his fingers gently around it, he promised, "I will do my very best."

Gazing into Draco's eyes, the raven-haired nodded after a minute and slipped from the window-sill. "Tell me what you need."

\--O-O--

"A potions lab, … sure … no problem!" Harry sighed, splaying over the chair at Snapes' bedside. He did not want to begrudge Draco time he spent with his previously presumed dead godfather. But it had been after midnight when the blond had finally gone to bed. The young Auror had taken his place after but a few minutes, exhausted but too wrapped up in his own head to find any rest. He had never realised how much he needed these little 'conversations' to calm himself before bed.

Of course, he could not talk about work. But more often than not, he found a topic to entertain both himself and his patient. Sometimes Harry wondered if Snape was cringing inwardly, wishing he could hex him, just to stop Harry's inane chatter. Still, in a way, these little talks were therapeutic, and Harry did not want to miss them for the world. Today the topic of conversation was Draco's potion lab and how Harry could set one up for him. Of course, he had been aware that the blond could not work in the kitchen. Still, the logistics for a proper lab eluded him.

"God, what I would do for you to be able to advise me right now," the raven-haired groaned, but then chuckled weakly and sank further down. "But that would be the snake biting its own tail. If I had you here to offer advice, I would not need it. On the other hand … maybe you would enjoy a properly equipped lab when you get back on your feet. I hope you'll want to stay until you are better. Is that selfish?" Harry sneered, shaking his head. "Of course, it is." Hesitating, he studied the man before him; hesitantly he admitted, "I think I've gotten so used to having you around, that I am terrified of the idea of you leaving. And that does not even make sense since we hated each other's guts at Hogwarts." With a groan, he rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up. "I've got to go; Morpheus is calling. Big day tomorrow … ahm, today. I should try and get at least a few hours of sleep."

Stepping up to the bed, Harry studied the comatose patient for a while, before sharing quietly, "I'll try to come back tomorrow, and you can help me plan the lab. We have to be careful, however, not to draw too much attention. If the press notices me equipping a potions lab at Grimmauld Place, while still working full-time, they will have Draco cooking up poisons, love potions and what-not in a day. The rumours of what he is doing in my house are preposterous enough as it is.

"Well," he shrugged once again. "At least those will be directed into the desired direction after the party on Friday. The rest should fall into place, after that."

Slowly reaching out, pulling the ever-present strand of dark hair out of Severus Snape's face, Harry whispered, "Good night, Sir."

\--O-O--

"Nott."

"Potter."

Glaring at one another over the threshold, Harry finally tilted his head and took a step back. "Would you like to come in?"

"Not really," Theodore Nott sneered but waved for his assistant anyway. "But since your sense of fashion leaves a lot to be desired, I might as well."

"Oi!" The Auror protested. "I do know …" But even as he said it, Harry remembered the threadbare shirt and jeans he had thrown on this morning; he had to change later anyway.

Raising his eyebrow, the Slytherin challenged, "You were saying?"

"You're not here for me!" Harry growled. "Living-room is through here. I set the furniture aside, so you have room to work."

"You have, of course, commissioned a robe for yourself as well." The designer informed him.

"I have not!"

"Yes, you have! I will not have the Malfoys take the stage following someone who looks like a beggar."

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Harry guided the man into his living-room. "Do I have a say in that matter?"

Directing his assistant where to set up shop, Nott replied absent-minded, "Of course you do."

"Will it make any difference?"

Smiling tight-lipped like the snake he was, the Slytherin inquired innocently, "What do you think?"

"I'll get Draco." Harry deflated, leaving the room. At least he would get a top-notch outfit out of this. Theodore Nott had overcome all prejudice and risen above all other designers in England. Mostly due to his contacts from school. Slytherins had stuck together after the war. But also, because he had an impeccable sense of style and colour when it came to his clients. Still, rumour had it that he was rude, notoriously hard to get an appointment for and a nightmare to work for. However, when Harry had sneaked into his shop two months ago, to request robes for Lucius' court date, the atmosphere in the shop had been relaxed and comfortable. When he and Nott had started a shouting match in the designer's office, no less than three workers had barged in, to ask if 'Sir' needed anything, glaring daggers at Harry.

Nott Fashion was not yet competition for the big houses in France. But he certainly was on his way. Outfitting the 'Saviour of the Wizarding World' would help his reputation considerably. Therefore, Harry did not begrudge Nott taking this chance. Neither, being ribbed off for the Malfoys' robes since both he and Nott knew that nobody else would make a similar effort for convicted Death Eaters.

"Theo?"

"Draco," the fellow Slytherin turned away from his creations and instructed calmly, "Undress!"

"Excuse me?"

Impatiently, Nott waved at Harry. "The wealthy Gryffindor made a sensible decision for once and commissioned robes for you and your parents, so you would not embarrass yourselves at the party tonight. Now, please be so kind and stop wasting my time. As you can imagine, I have three more fittings to go through this afternoon."

"You've got to be kidding me," Draco sneered, turning towards the raven-haired who hovered at the door. "I thought you were joking when you said that we should attend the Yule ball at the Ministry."

"Nope," Harry shook his head, instinctively reaching for his wand when Nott pulled out his own, waving it over Draco, who suddenly stood in but his pants in the middle of the living-room.

"Now, be a good boy, Draco, and let me do my job. Your sugar-daddy surely pays enough for it."

"Theo!"

**"Nott!"**

Ignoring the simultaneous shouts routinely, the designer called upon his assistant, to be handed the first robe on the rack and pulled it over the blond's head. "Now, let's see what I have to work with."

\--O-O--

"Do you honestly think that Potter will attend this year?"

"I've heard he is quite wrapped up between work and his new boy-toy."

"Boy-toy?"

"The Malfoy heir."

"Well, after all the stunts Lucius' Junior has pulled at school, let us hope that he has some redeeming qualities."

"A very nice backside, rumour has it."

"Lady Cornwall!"

"Lord Montague!" The pure-blood at the heart of the rumour mill mocked. "Don't sound so shocked. And don't even dare to act as if you have not heard about the gross of Weasleys walking in and out of Potter's house all hours of the day … and night. Don't tell me, that you believe that he is involved only with Ginevra.

"I've heard that they all sleep in the same bed. No matter who visits."

"And Lucius is quite fit himself. A little bird told me that Lord Potter has banished him back to the Manor, mere two weeks into their … arrangement."

"Maybe the son is more jealous than the wife?"

"Or he truly carries a wand for both teams."

After an impatient gesture with her fan, a black-haired Lady inquired, "Still, that does not explain your conviction of him attending today, my Lord."

Gesturing towards the staircase that led down into the vast Ministry ballroom, the pureblood explained, "Because Auror Potter has just entered, boy-toy included."

Whispering behind fans and gloved fingers, the gathering turned and watched the Saviour of the Wizarding World descend into the room.

Harry wore a dark-green robe of an elegant cut, trimmed with silver-grey that reflected the colour of his companion's eyes.

Draco Malfoy filled out a slim-cut robe of deep-grey that contrasted nicely with his light-blond hair; it shone like spun silk in the light of the thousand candles that illuminated the room. His garments were edged by thin borders of emerald green, identical to Harry's eyes.

Since the raven-haired had managed to tame his mop for once, making it stand up to reveal his scar, they looked about the same height. An impressive couple that surely deserved all the gossip that filled the room. Still, the Auror smiled when a shocked quiet spread, looking over his shoulder at his friends and their escorts for the evening.

Lucius Malfoy was guiding Hermione Weasley. He cut an impressive figure in the high-collared, midnight-blue robes Theodore Nott had designed for him. The former Lord had forgone all embellishments save the heavy chain around his throat and the walking stick his liege had gifted him, the day of the Lostrife-trial.

Hermione was a vision of beauty. Her shimmering garment of the same midnight-blue caught everyone's eye. The long-sleeved robe brushed the floor, whispering with every step she took. It hid her beginning baby bump quite nicely while flaring at her hips, drawing attention to her womanly figure. As before, Harry's breath was stolen when he became once more aware, what a beautiful woman his best friend had become. She descended a few stairs, claiming a place beside Harry, who smiled.

"You look positively radiant."

"Expecting seems to agree with me."

And boom … the whispers picked up again, only to taper off, when the last third of the 'golden trio' entered, guiding a Lady whose appearance and poise allowed no doubt about her being born into a family that had valued blood purity for generations.

Where Hermione and Lucius were clad in a dark colour, Ron and Narcissa wore a robe respectively a breath-taking dress in a light beige. Ron had chosen … had been given a robe with a cut that flared at the arms and the bottom ever so slightly, indicating an idea of the cut his wife wore. Narcissa's garment was hugging her figure perfectly. The material was shimmering, reflecting the light. The high collar gave her an even more impressive appearance. Though Ron dwarfed her in size, his matt robe could not rival the impression she made in her shimmering gown. All eyes were drawn to the woman who had … however involuntarily … hosted Lord Voldemort.

Sedated, Ron joined his friends, allowing Harry to claim the Lady's hand, indicating a kiss. "Narcissa, you look stunning."

With an elegant tilt of her head, the woman replied, "Thank you, Harry."

"Should we?" The raven-haired gestured towards the dancefloor.

"We shall," Hermione decided, allowing the former Lord to guide her down the stairs, Ron mirroring her position, with Narcissa on his arm. Harry followed two steps behind, calming a tense Draco, "Don't worry, everything will be fine."

Pale but composed, the blond clutched the Auror's arm for a heartbeat. Soothingly, Harry stilled Draco's trembling fingers, where they lay in the crook of his elbow. "Trust me. I won't let anything happen to you."

\--O-O--

"That was quite an entrance you made," Robarts commented when he and his most famous Auror met at the bar.

"Well, we are here to prove a certain point."

"You made **a** point," his superior acknowledged. "It remains to be seen if it was the one you intended."

"You think this was a mistake?" Harry inquired, looking at his Malfoys who stood with Ron and Hermione, and Draco who was surrounded by his former classmates.

"That remains to be seen," the Head Auror pondered. "The sympathy of the public is a fickle thing. You know that better than most, Harry. You have been in favour for quite a long time now. People might start to look for flaws, be they real or imaginary."

"Flaws like the Malfoys?"

"Flaws like you going dark. That you showed mercy and compassion was the right thing to do. We both know that. But your little side-project …" Robarts tempered off, gesturing towards the pure-blood elite around them. "You're trying to change their way of living; the way we raise our children. This could go bad much easier than it can go right."

Looking at the other wizard, not even wondering how the seasoned Auror had come to know of his plans, Harry joined him on his rounds for a while. He made small talk and smiled at the right people, before he asked, "Do you think I should stop?"

Sighing, because this was most certainly not the ideal surroundings for such a deep conversation, especially not when working, Robarts led them to a small alcove. After casting some heavy privacy wards, he looked at his young, idealistic Auror, who tried so very hard to make Britain a better, and a safer place. Harry Potter had carried the weight of their world on his shoulders since he had been 15 months old. And instead of telling them all to 'shove it' after defeating You-know … Voldemort, he was still exhausting himself to safe wizarding Britain from itself. The sad truth was, he was the only wizard on the planet who **might** succeed.

"To be honest, Harry, we need a change. The future is passing us by, and no matter how powerful we think we are, the muggles will overwhelm us with their technology and their science. We need our coming generations, to be open to such things. A generation who leads us into the 21st century. Yes, of course, muggles are dangerous, but they won't be any less so if we continue to ignore them. The Statue of Secrecy is important! Now more than ever. But it should not be used as an excuse for ignorance. Integrating magical children into our world as soon as possible is certainly a good way to further understanding. Let muggle-born and purebloods learn from each other. No matter if they teach each other about gaming consoles or scrying. But consider demanding oaths from their parents to keep our secret."

"Oaths from muggles?"

"No matter their intentions; and let us assume they only have the best because it is their offspring we are talking about; one wrong word at the wrong time could doom us all."

Dragging his fingers through his hair, receiving a stinging hex for his troubles and a wave of magic that put his hairstyle back in place, Harry sighed. "I haven't thought of that."

Smiling benevolently, the Head Auror put a comforting hand on his young employee's shoulder. "Nobody expects you to do everything by yourself, Harry. You have done your part. Now, you need to ask for help."

"It does not feel that way," Harry mumbled absent-minded, watching Draco, who broke away from a group of Slytherins to … maybe use the facilities? Somehow Harry had a bad feeling about the blond wandering alone.

"… Harry. Harry?!"

"Sorry, Sir," the raven-haired brushed away his concerns and returned to the discussion at hand.

"I asked if that is really how you feel."

"Yes … No … It's complicated." The young wizard admitted. "It's just … the responsibility for a better future lay on my shoulders for so long that I don't know … I mean I know that I am just one person, but …"

"Harry, you won't receive any help from the general public, if you don't learn to ask for it. I know your family is very supportive, but you will need many more on your side if you want to have any hope of succeeding."

Raising his hand, recalling the hex, he lowered it again the 'Saviour of the Wizarding World' relented. "I'll try. I have Lucius who helps me with the political side of things. Narcissa with the social and Andromeda with the light families I meet at various get-togethers."

"And Draco, …" Robarts asked lurking.

Flinching, Harry looked at his superior. "About him … have you, by any chance, …"

Chuckling at his Auror's bad conscience, the wizard shook his head. "No, but I had Vermilia look into it. According to her, no part of the young Malfoy's file refers to his wand."

"And you trust …"

"Harry," Robarts admonished. "You know as much as I, that she has as tight a grip on our documents, as Madame Pince has on the Hogwarts' books. If she says that no decision has been made about Draco Malfoy's wand, then no decision has been noted."

"Of course, Sir," the young wizard pacified, knowing perfectly well the torch the Head Auror carried for Vermilia Hoggins, the archivist of the Ministry.

"Still, you should be … discreet. As should your 'servant'."

Grinning absent-minded, the Auror promised, "As sneaky as a snake."

"Great," the older wizard rolled his eyes. "Exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Now, excuse me, Sir. It seems there is a slight misunderstanding with the Slytherin in question." With a respectful bow, Harry left the alcove to approach the calmer end of the ballroom.

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being so short but I have just started my holiday in Styria and this day was packed with arriving, and swimming and sauna and a delicious dinner and a rainstorm after two weeks of unbearable heat in Vienna. All in all, I am beat! But I'm so happy that my vacation is finally starting.  
> Hugs and Kisses to all of you. I hope you liked it ;).


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My Mistress and I share a similar taste and Draco here, would just be to our liking."  
> Clutching his walking stock, Lucius ground his teeth, barely holding back from clocking Dolohov. Recalling his upbringing, the pureblood managed to reply calmly, "I am afraid, I do not have any liberties in that matter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you might have noticed, that my posting schedule has changed. From once a week, I only post once in a fortnight. As much as it caught me by surprise, I'm nearly up to date with my writing and posting and that kind of stresses me out. I honestly try to write whenever inspiration strikes me, but since I've developed an interest in watercolours, my writing has slowed down. Please, don't worry. I still have a lot of ideas for Sententia and I WILL finish this with an appropriate happy ending. I might just need a while.   
> However, if there are things you would like to read about - not Snape, he's coming don't worry - just send me a text and I will try to incorporate the idea, if it works in this story.  
> Now, I hope that all of you will enjoy the upcoming ball.   
> Have a great weekend.

"You've really grown into your predispositions, young Malfoy. Truly the best of both families. Your parents can be proud of themselves."

"Thank you, my Lord. I'll make sure to tell them," Draco replied, trying his hardest to remain polite and detached from the elderly wizard, who had deftly manoeuvred him towards the darker, calmer part of the ballroom after he had claimed a minute for himself. His friends had all been very vocal in their compassion for his situation. Former housemates, with whom he had less of an immediate relationship, had offered their support, despite everybody knowing, that they would not even look at him, had he not entered at the arm of the 'saviour'. Used to months of isolation with only his mother, and now Potter as company, the chatter had become too much for the blond. Yet, now he called himself a fool for letting this Lord manoeuvre him into a corner.

Of course, he had had the best of intentions of returning after but a few moments. Harry, had excused himself for a mere minute, stating that he only intended a brief chat with his superior. Draco was aware that his family was skating on thin ice tonight. One wrong move could destroy all the progress his father had made with the Department of Law Enforcement. They might cost Harry his job, even his reputation if they were not careful. So, when the grey-haired wizard with the cold, blue eyes – Draco had recalled him vaguely from a few of his parent's 'social' gatherings – had stirred him to the side, he had done his best not to make a scene, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. Now, his opposite was boldly clutching his chin between ice-cold fingers, turning his head, as if Draco was a horse, stirred up for inspection. When he tried to pull back, the grip turned into a steel-clamp, making him suppress a whimper.

"Antonin, I'm surprised to see you here." Lucius overly polite voice broke through Draco's rising terror. Yet, instead of being released, cold fingers brushed over his cheek in a mock of a lover's caress.

"Lucius," the former Death Eater replied with a barely there tilt of his head, acknowledging the other Lord. "You are not the only one who knows how to work the system. Though you have certainly found yourself the more famous patron." Gently brushing a stray lock out of Draco's face, the convict smiled predatorily. "I have just complimented your boy here. He has really grown into his inheritance. A body and face like this could earn you a lot of favours if you knew whom to talk to. For old times' sake, I might consider offering my assistance in that endeavour. My Mistress and I share a similar taste and Draco here, would just be to our liking."

Clutching his walking stock, Lucius ground his teeth, barely holding back from clocking the man. Recalling his upbringing, he managed to reply calmly, "I am afraid, I do not have any liberties in that matter."

Reaching for Draco's throat, allowing his fingertips to travel the expanse of the creamy skin, Dolohov mocked, "Did you have to offer your heir for Potter to take the deal?"

Breathing through his nose, Draco concentrated on not throwing up. He could not make a scene. This bastard would leave him alone soon enough. They were at the ministry. Everybody had seen him enter with Potter. In a minute, all this would be over. He could return to the other Slytherins, and at home he could take a shower, to scrub off this bastard touch. All he had to do, was to keep it together and not make a bloody scene!

"Actually, it was the other way around," a composed voice, with a core of steel, interrupted the trio.

Draco's eyes flew open, taking in the larger-than-life form of Harry Potter, who casually twirled his wand, leisurely reaching out for him. Finally breaking free from the unwanted touch, the blond fled into the raven-haired's arm. He willingly tilted his neck, so Harry could brush his nose over the skin Dolohov had just fingered, before ghosting a kiss over it. A part of the Slytherin pondered over the picture he made; presenting himself all subdued and submissive. But he was too grateful for the protection of Harry's arm around his waist, to even think about offering any kind of token resistance. Once the young wizard had finished his claim, he demanded to know. "Are you alright, pet?"

The blond would have been surprised by the tender tone, so unusual for the battle-hardened Auror, had he not heard it countless times these last few weeks whenever Harry was talking to Emerald. Since the raven-haired seemed determined to put on a show, he lowered his eyes and whispered softly, "Yes, my Lord." He could not help but feel comforted by the small kiss the raven-haired pressed on his forehead, before turning towards the former Death Eater with a predatory smile. "In fact, it was Draco who offered. And while we were not exactly friends at school, he has yet to disappoint me. I would even go so far and say that he has risen to any challenge I have presented him with." Scrutinizing the two wizards before him, the 'saviour' casually pointed his wand at his vassal, noting how Dolohov instantly reached for his sleeve. "Lucius has not made me regret my leniency either. He has certainly put his skills to good use, and I must admit that both he and Narcissa satisfy. Not that I expected anything less of pure-bloods of their upbringing, and with their … talents."

After a brief, but noticeable pause, the young Auror added, "You on the other hand …"

The moment he turned fully towards the former Death Eater, a wand sprang into the blue-eyed wizard's hand. Shaking his head in mock sadness, Harry made a brief gesture and berated. "A convict attending a Ministry function, I could have overlooked. Him being obviously badly kept … well … that I could consider a problem for his actual keeper. A wand when attending a ball … that's just bad form, but …"

"You carry a wand as well," Antonin Dolohov hissed, but the Auror just smiled, all teeth, making the two Malfoys grateful to know that he was on their side.

"I do," he admitted, "but you see, I am not a guest."

When two colleagues appeared at his side, Harry watched them putting the Death Eater into bindings, before he finished his sentence. "… even bad form I can ignore. However, you have touched what is mine, and for that, you are going back to Azkaban. Take him away, gentleman."

With a grateful nod, he dismissed his colleagues, before turning towards Lucius. "Hermione tries to convince Lady Greengrass of the advantages of a shared day-care. Please, assist her in that endeavour."

Immensely relieved about how his liege had handled the situation, the former Lord offered a deep bow and confirmed, "Yes, my Lord."

Aware of the audience a scene like theirs had inevitably attracted, Harry kept his arm around Draco and instructed audibly, "Pet, you're with me."

\--O-O--

Closing and locking the door of the private bathroom, Harry turned towards his pale companion. Usually, these 'powder rooms' were reserved for the ladies. But the young wizard could not care less at the moment. Not when Draco seemed ready to faint.

As soon as the door was closed, the blond rushed to the sink, drowned one of the wet cloths before lathering it with the readily available lavender soap and started to scrub his face and neck, drenching the upper half of his clothes in suds.

For a moment, Harry hesitated, but then he stepped up to Draco and wrestled the cloth from his trembling fingers. Carefully, he rinsed it and then started to gently brush away the soap that had spread over his face and neck. "Did he hurt you?" Opening the top of the robe, he continued to clean away the suds. When he received no reply, the young Auror stopped and lightly cupped the other wizard's cheek to make him look up.

Draco needed a few moments, but eventually, he managed to meet Harry's eyes.

"Did that bastard hurt you?" The raven-haired repeated empathically because god help Dolohov if he had lain a single finger on his charge!

"I … yes … No!" The blond babbled when the young Auror growled at the initial confirmation. "He just grabbed my chin. It was … nothing …" The former Death Eater had not harmed him physically. He had terrified Draco with his insinuations and blank innuendos, but in the end, nothing had happened. Potter had come and saved him, like many times before. The blond wondered if there would come a time, at one point in the future, when his former rival would tire of that.

"Draco," Harry spoke tenderly, confusing the other since there was no one around to pretend for. "Did he hurt you?"

Drawing strength from the green eyes that looked at him with such concern, the young pure-blood finally admitted, "He scared me. He spoke of his mistress and him sharing certain … tastes. That he expected someone like me being exactly to their liking." After a moment of hesitation, Draco admitted quietly. "He did not hurt me, but I think he wanted to."

Nodding reluctantly, because no matter how little Harry liked it, he thought Draco to be right, he assured the blond. "He won't get the chance. You know that Draco, don't you? You're mine, and I protect those under my care."

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, to take a step back and reflect on the situation from a logical point of view, Draco stated, "That's why we came today; me and my parents, I mean. You wanted to broadcast our new status. That mother and father deferred to you and that I … that I'm your pet or boy-toy or whatever you want to call it."

Tugging his raven strands, hissing at the stinging hex he received for his troubles, Harry sank onto a bench at the side. Hesitantly, he admitted, "Yes, Draco, that's exactly why you are all here tonight."

"You should have told us." The blond berated quietly, leaning against the vanity. He was calmer, now that he had something else but Dolohov to concentrate on.

"Really," Harry sneered. "That's not exactly the kind of conversation one wants to have."

"We could have played our parts better, had we known."

"Excuse me?"

Raising his eyebrows, Draco shrugged, "We are not stupid, you know. Mother, father and I know that we have nothing if we fall out with you. Whatever you expect from us, we will provide it!"

"Don't," Harry paled, rising to approach the other. "That's not what I … I don't … it's not like that! This is not some inane power-trip to humiliate the three of you!"

"Still, you expect us to obey you … to play our roles."

"I … yes," the raven-haired admitted. "I'm sorry."

Confused his servant slash pet slash boy-toy shook his head, "What for?"

"Because this is wrong. You're not my slaves!"

"No, we pledged our allegiance to you in vows and words and deeds in exchange for your protection. And judging by what has just transpired, this deal seems to work entirely to our advantage."

"I should have been faster," the Auror growled, gazing at the door as if contemplating to knock it down, going after Dolohov despite the Death Eater having been taken into custody already.

Putting an only miniscule shaking hand on the raven-haired's chest to calm him, Draco assured, "You were there when I needed you. He scared me, but he did not harm me. Thank you, Harry."

Covering the blond's hand with his own, Harry smiled a little, "You're welcome."

Closing his eyes to take another steadying breath, the young pure-blood allowed himself to savour the contact for a mere moment, before pulling back. Eying the other critically, he brushed his fingers through Harry's carefully groomed hair, before repeating the process on his own head.

How anybody could achieve such an artfully tousled look was beyond the Auror. Every time he dragged his fingers through his strands, he only messed them up. Hence the hex Nott's assistant had put on him after her employer had declared him ready to go.

"Could you?" Draco gestured over the wet part of his robe, bringing him out of his musings.

"Of course."

Pulling the attire back in place, after Harry had waved his wand over it, the blond studied their reflections for a moment. Then he opened the first two buttons of his robe and the first one of the dress-shirt underneath.

Distinctively uncomfortable with where this was going, Harry shook off his unease, when he noticed the blond's faint trembling, as he adjusted the collar at this throat. Stepping close enough to be nearly touching, the Auror promised, "Nobody will touch you again without your consent. Not on my watch."

Glancing at the mirror image, Draco nodded. "I know, not after tonight." Then he resolutely turned around, looking at his companion expectantly. "We have taken enough time for you to prove your point. We can return to the ball now."

Acquiescent, Harry offered his arm.

\--O-O--

For the rest of the night, Draco stayed glued to his benefactor's side. He made small-talk, proved himself as inconspicuous or as charming as the situation demanded and within the hour the first rumours started to fly about how possessive the 'Savour of the Wizarding World' was.

Somehow Harry could already see the headlines:

_> Auror Potter sentences Wizard to Azkaban for touching his charge.<_

Or something of that effect, no matter how ridiculous the notion of him judging anybody was. He was an Auror, for Merlin's sake; not judge, jury and executioner in one.

However, he counted it as a win, when Lucius and Narcissa smiled at him, after giving Draco a brief once-over, while Ron just grinned at the picture they presented. Hermione merely advised the blond to 'tune it down a notch'.

Blaise Zabini had been prepared to tear into Harry, when he had noticed him and Draco leaving the 'powder room', looking well shagged. But Draco had just put a hand on his friend's chest, mumbling quietly, "Remember our seven-minutes-in-heaven in fourth year?"

Blaise had seemed to sage in relief; but still decided to threaten Harry that he would, 'Hex his sorry arse into the next decade, should he ever hurt Draco!'

To keep up appearances, Harry had remained unmoved, but still had replied quietly, "If I ever hurt him, I will offer you my wand to do it."

Apparently, that had appeased Blaise, since he had pulled back and slapped the raven-haired's arm companionably. The young Auror had then gapped after him, shaking his head, "Slytherins are so weird."

"Say's the one who argues daily with the snake embellishment on his mantle-piece because the decoration does not like the soot that comes with floo-travel."

Unable to contradict that particular argument, Harry thought it safest to change the topic. "Drink?"

"White wine, please."

And with that, he guided his 'boy-toy' towards the buffet to serve him some wine.

\--O-O--

"Half of the guests threw Potter evil looks for attending with a Slytherin," Draco chuckled, draping himself over the armchair beside his godfather's bed, groaning blissfully of finally being off his feet.

"And the other half was jealous." Harry finished from his place at the door.

Immediately Draco flinched, fighting his way up from the chair. "Sorry, I just …"

"Keep your seat. I tend to talk to Severus as well, in the evening. It … helps."

Claiming his favourite place on the windowsill, Harry wondered, "I dread the morning-issue of the Daily Prophet."

"Why?" The blond grinned. " _'Boy who lived incarcerates wizard in a fit of jealous rage'_ is a lovely headline, don't you think?"

Groaning, the raven-haired hid his face behind his pulled-up knees. "You're enjoying this far too much. I hate you!" He mumbled into his legs.

"It was really a lovely scene," Draco continued unperturbed. "When Dolohov went all grabby on me, Harry appeared like my very own knight in shining armour and busted him for carrying a wand at a ministry function."

"He's a convicted Death Eater on probation. He should not even have a wand in the first place!" The Auror defended himself weakly.

Despite that being true, the other wizard stated, "Had there not been a wand, you would have found another way to take him out. He threatened me."

"He should not have done that!" The raven-haired glared.

"I'm kind of glad he did."

"Excuse me!?"

Sighing, the blond looked at his comatose godfather, before he whispered, "Dolohov admitted to having worked the system to get out on probation. Father hinted that he enjoyed participating in the raids against muggles … that he actually liked hurting them. If me being threatened is the last straw for him to be locked up for good, with the key thrown away … it was worth it."

Deciding that it was time for bed, Harry straightened his patient's covers. He barely kept himself from straightening Snape's hair, before he turned to the door. When he passed Draco, he put a gentle hand on his shoulder and contradicted softly. "No, it wasn't. Not for me."

"Gryffindors are so weird," the blond mumbled, looking after him.

But incredibly loyal. Worth keeping.

"Yea, …" Draco mumbled, snuggling into the armchair. After the evening he has had, he had no intentions of sleeping alone.

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aware of the initial instruction to stay close to his liege, but not willing to abandon the last of his pride, Lucius folded his arms before his chest. "If you think that I will share a broom like a child, think again!"  
> "No?" Harry gazed at his vassal, his face a picture of innocence. "Well, in that case, you better keep up!" Tossing the platinum-haired the Nimbus 2000, he summoned again, "Accio Firebolt!"


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following at a more sedated pace, Hermione joined Narcissa, smiling inwardly when the pure-blood commented, "You are very fortunate to be considered part of this family."
> 
> "You might be too, one day," Hermione replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit that my last few weeks were a little hectic, but I promise you that I am putting as much love into this story as ever, just not as much time. But I will do my very best to keep up my posting schedule of two weeks, to reward you for your patience.   
> Have a great weekend and a good start of school/college/uni/work :).

The day of the 21st of December was spent in quiet contemplation. Both Harry and Narcissa had been determined to honour wizarding traditions and had taken to baking bread and pies in their kitchens. An hour before sundown, everybody gathered in the living room of Grimmauld Place.

"Draco, Narcissa, I am sorry, but you will need these bracelets. Lucius will be expected to stay by my side at all times. But you are still under house arrest; strictly speaking. So, the ministry only agreed to let you leave the house if you wear something with a tracking charm."

Despite reaching out for the bracelet, Narcissa reminded him, " We could still stay at the Manor."

All too aware of Draco's faint trembling, Harry shook his head. "No, the Winter Solstice is a time for celebrating with the family, and you are now family by proxy. Molly insisted I bring you along."

Carefully balancing the tray of pies, the Lady closed the bracelet and tilted her head. "In that case, we will be honoured."

Draco suppressed a shiver when the magic activated around his wrist. Still, he nodded gratefully, though he wanted to claw the offending band off his arm. He was so tired of being shackled. Be it by jewellery or a trice damned tattoo. But Harry tried so hard to give them a pleasant Yule. Therefore, Draco forced a smile and left it alone. The unwanted jewellery flew from his mind as soon as he stepped through to the burrow. Instantly, Molly Weasley was upon him, hugging him while guiding him to the kitchen.

"Draco, dear, so good to see you. My goodness, you are but skin and bones. Doesn't Harry feed you? Sit down, sit down! I'll whip something up for you."

His faint reply was drowned by the motherly redhead, berating Harry on his mealtime habits and within moments, the four sat at the kitchen table, to snack on cucumber-sandwiches and tea.

While the Malfoys and Harry enjoyed their treats, Andromeda arrived with Teddy, who immediately climbed up on the kitchen-bench to steal pieces of cucumber from both his godfather's and his cousin's plate. Ron, Hermione and Rose were ignored. However, as soon as Fleur's charming accent could be heard, shouting out a 'Joyeux Yule', the boy got anxious, his hair morphing through all the colours of the rainbow. He demanded to be cleaned and straightened before slipping out of the kitchen.

With a smile, Harry gestured for Draco to follow. Therefore, the blond got the chance to observe a racing Teddy Lupin coming to a full stop before a beautiful four-year-old with silky, strawberry-blond hair and an ivy-green dress, demanding from her father, who was holding back a toddler from storming the kitchen without a by-your-leave, to straighten the deep red bow, that held back Victoire's hair. Impatient to gain his 'fiancée's attention, Teddy blabbered, "I have a Christmas-present for you! Two actually."

From their point of view, the two wizards could see a pure excitement lighting up the girl's face before she turned slowly. "As have I," she replied evenly, before she broke out in delighted giggles, reaching for Teddy's hand, pulling him along. "Come on! Let's watch grandpa play with the crayons!"

Harry was reaching for his wand but abandoned the gesture when he noticed that both Fleur and Bill were already casting warming-charms on the kids. "Good to see you," he entered the room, inevitably prompting Draco to follow.

"Bonne Yule, 'Arry." Fleur kissed his cheek. Both chuckled when Bill pulled first Harry and then Draco into a hug. "The famous Auror and his love interest. Merry Christmas. Good to see you back at full strength."

The raven-haired and the blond groaned in unison when the eldest Weasley hinted at the Daily Prophet headline, that had covered the Yule ball at the Ministry. Instead of portraying Harry as a jealous and possessive lover, Draco had become the 'tragic hero' of their story, who was working hard to redeem himself, as to become worthy of his famous boyfriend.

While the story had put the Malfoys in a much better light than Harry could have ever predicted, he had been surprised by the somewhat 'mellow' headline. At least until Narcissa had shared, during their baking spree, that she had had a lovely chat with the wife of the Prophet's editor in chief, while the man and Ron had talked business. Though Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was comfortable gaining attention through word-to-mouth advertising alone - most of their money came from ministry contracts anyway - Ron had insisted on a monthly newsletter of sorts. It served to introduce new products and future developments. Since that issue usually sold much better than any other - bar a scandal somewhere - the editor in chief had tried to increase the frequency of said newsletter. In vain for now.

Narcissa however, had shared with the somewhat shy half-blood at the man's side, how very concerned their 'Saviour' was, about his timidly growing relationship with her son. She had hinted his worries about the public opinion of him 'going dark' and how Lucius and especially Draco were thriving to prove their change of hearts from their Death Eater days. Narcissa had hinted how anxious they all were to not put Harry in a bad light when he had saved their lives, and how the young Auror might even consider sharing his concerns with the press if he believed himself to be portraited justly.

Hearing that, Harry had groaned, "I have a contract with Luna and The Quibbler, Narcissa. Do you know what you have said? How can I keep your promise without having Luna's paper suffer?"

"Yes, Harry," the Lady had replied with a cold smile. "I said 'might'."

Looking up from sieving flour, Harry gapped at the pureblood. "You, slippery snake."

With a benevolent smile, Narcissa had accepted the compliment. "It was my pleasure."

\--O-O--

George staggered through the floo next, practically falling into Draco's arms. "Oh, my lovely dragon," he cried out. "I read our love is not meant to be. But how should I ever live up to the gorgeous 'boy who lived'? I am heartbroken, Draco. Do you hear me? Heartbroken!"

"Get off me!" Draco growled, and quickly the redhead let go, bouncing on the couch, where the other had shoved him. Much to the amusement of his wife, who had followed him through the floo. Too used to George's antics, Angelina had merely shaken her head, greeting her in-laws at a much more mellow pace.

"Harry!" Ginny's excited voice cut through the drama, and a heartbeat later, she pounced on her ex.

Pulling away, his festive mood vanishing, Draco was kept from returning to the kitchen, by his mother's delicate hand on his chest. Quietly she advised, "Watch, my love, and listen."

Having long since learned to obey, the blond turned reluctantly. He tensed when noticing Ginny whispering into Harry's ear. He debated retreating against his mother's advice, especially when the raven-haired's face lit up like the sun. "Really? By Merlin, that's brilliant! Congratulations!"

The chorus of questions that followed was silenced by a cutting remark from the door. "I would greatly appreciate it, if you would let go of my fiancé, Potter."

Still laughing, Harry sat Ginny down and approached the Hufflepuff he had once protected from Draco's conjured snake. "Good to see you, Justin. Welcome to the family." Holding out his hand, the latest arrival mirrored his easy smile and shook it. Then, as etiquette demanded, he turned towards their hostess. "Mrs Weasley, thank you for inviting me. Mother sends her best and had me bring some meat-pie. With your permission, I would like to put it into the kitchen for now."

With a smile, Molly guided the polite, young wizard towards the kitchen. Nearly all other guests in attendance gathered around Ginny, inquiring about the ring and the proposal, questions the redhead indulged with pleasure. That gave Draco the chance to pull Harry aside. "Ginny Weasley and Justin Flinch-Fletchley. How long has this been going on?"

Distracted by the excited family, Harry shrugged, "About twenty months on and off. At first, Justin did not dare to ask her out. With Ginny being a famous Quidditch player and all. When she finally convinced him to give them a chance, he insisted on making the manager position at his company. He works somewhere where they deal with the import and export of dangerous and fragile goods. He was a travelling salesperson before but wanted them not starting their relationship without at least one of them remaining stationary. After his promotion, they put down the commission for a little house near Eton."

"Doesn't Weasley get paid enough to be able to afford a house?"

With a smile, Harry nodded. "Of course, she does, but Justin insists that all payments are covered in equal parts. He is very, **very** determined not to take advantage of her."

After a few moments of quiet contemplation, the blond burst out, "But she slept in your bed!"

"So?" Confused the raven-haired looked up. "George does that too. As does Ron and Hermione. The three of us have gotten used to even tighter quarters than my bedroom at Grimmauld Place during our hunt."

"I thought you were …" Draco whispered quietly, more to himself, as he was ashamed of his unfounded jealousy. It was not as if he had any right. He and Potter were not in a relationship. No matter what they tried to make The Prophet believe.

"That Ginny and I were still together?" Harry chuckled. "George would have a better chance, but in the end, dating any of them would feel like dating a sibling. I love them with all my heart, and there is nothing I would not do for them. But a romantic relationship … been there, tried that. It did not work out. Ginny is happier with Justin. He gives her hectic life the stability she needs."

After a heartbeat, Draco asked, "And you?"

He brushed away the question. "It doesn't matter. Come on let's help Arthur with the circle. Last year he nearly set the entire field on fire, because he used some kind of acrylic paint to draw the runes."

\--O-O--

In a dark room, illuminated by but four candles, two children chanted in one voice, while holding a long match between their trembling fingers.

"This is the Season of Cold and White,

may your Spirit shine bright, this very night.

With intuitive vision and beauty of sight.

May your heart embrace, the return of the light!"

At Teddy's encouraging nod, he and Victoire lit the golden candle at the centre of the small altar, while the girl whispered, "Blessed be."

One by one, the adults stepped forward to light the candles they were holding with a quiet, "Blessed be."

As one, they left the house and approached the ritual-circle Arthur had prepared. Symbols of the elements, the old gods and magic itself decorated the edge. Claiming the place of the north-star, Arthur Weasley sat down his candle and raised his hands.

"I want to thank each and every one of you, for taking their time to celebrate this Winter Solstice with us. Long have we ignored our traditions. Forgotten that our bond with the earth of Albion is what gives us power. Today marks a change, the beginning of a new life-circle that, while still lying dormant, will undoubtedly bless us with new life this upcoming year." Lowering his arms, he smiled, looking at his muggle-born daughter in law and his youngest son, who stood wrapped around her protectively. Then he let his eyes travel over family, friends and guests in attendance.

"Molly, my love, I have been lucky enough to find you, when we were still at Hogwarts. And although we have had our fair share of trials and tribulations, I would not change a single thing. Please, join me as the Heart of the South."

Once the witch had taken the cardinal point, facing her husband, Arthur continued, "William." Chuckling under his breath, the older wizard shook his head. "I have been afraid many times in my life, but the day your mother told me she was pregnant, I was terrified beyond compare. Never had I imagined myself being a father, let alone a good one. But the moment the medi-witch put you in my arms, I knew that I would do everything in my power to protect you and make sure you have a good life. You, coming into our life, marked a new dawn; the beginning of this family. Please, take your own family, and claim the cardinal point of the rising sun."

Blinking rapidly, Bill watched Fleur pick up Dominique before he guided her and Victoire to his father's left side.

"Charles, I thought fatherhood would become easier after the first time. However, I was not prepared to deal with a boy who filled our house with exotic bugs, wounded birds and - on one memorable occasion - a wolf-pup with a broken paw. I thank Merlin every day that you have found your place in life, where your compassion and your thirst for adventure are equally satisfied. The cardinal point of the ever-changing flame shall be yours tonight."

From Charlie, Arthur looked towards his third son, who stood hand in hand with his wife Audrey and little Molly and Lucy peeking out from behind their legs. "Percival. Like your brothers, we named you after one of the great knights of old. We hoped that a strong name would lead to a strong spirit and you have indeed proven us right. Though your mother and I might have not agreed with every decision you have made in your life, in the end, you have become everything we could have ever hoped for and more. Facing one's mistakes takes a lot of courage. But apologising for them and changing one's way takes more backbone than most people possess. "You have certainly changed a lot over the last years, and always for the better. Please, take your family and join your mother and Charlie in our circle."

"George," with sad eyes, Arthur looked at his tall son. "The pain of losing a child is the worst imaginable for a parent. But nothing compares to the agony of losing a twin. With all my heart, I wish I could change this fate and give you back your brother. But not even Magic herself could do that. I am grateful that you have found a life and a love; a family that makes you happy and though I know that a future child can't weight up a brother, I thank the stars every day that you have Angelina and that the gods have blessed the two of you already. "You have been through more than all other children I have been blessed with, and yet you achieved things I would have never thought you capable of when you were blowing up your room or after receiving yet another letter from Professor McGonagall, detailing your latest prank. I am so incredibly proud of you." Opening his arms, he hugged his son for nearly a minute, before he kissed George's forehead and gestured him and Angelina towards his left.

"Ronald," looking at his youngest son, and the two friends that stood by his side, Arthur could not suppress the loving smile, when he noticed the protective stance of the two, covering his daughter-in-law. "The friends you have made in your first year at Hogwarts forced you to face the reality of our world long before your peers. Where other children had the luxury of spending their formative years fretting over grades, clothes or the latest gossip, you learned to survive trials, your greatest fear, treacherous animagi and Dark Lords. The proof that you have chosen said friends wisely, is them standing by your side, even after the war was won. "Common enemies bring people together. But only once the danger is passed, can we see who our true friends are. Not all the choices you have made in your life were smart. But those that mattered were true. So please, join Charlie and me tonight, with your growing family by your side."

Taking in the picture, the nervous Hufflepuff who seemed so unsure if he was supposed to stand behind or in front of Ginny when facing her family, the head of the family nodded to himself. Yes, his little girl has made the right decision with her future spouse. "Ginevra, growing up as the seventh child could not have been easy. However, outside of bad external influences," Arthur could not help but glower at Lucius Malfoy for a moment, "and incredibly protective friends," he nodded towards Harry, "I was never worried about you. As soon as you were able to hold your first wand, Bill's for the most part, it was clear that you would become an incredibly strong and talented witch. You grew up in your brothers' shadows, but today you shine all the more for it. Tonight, you bring us not only a friend but your future husband, so please, join your mother and Bill in our circle, to complete it."

Taking his time to glance at his family, Arthur could not help but rejoice having them all here tonight. He had not thought about these rites in a very long time, though his parents had always insisted on them being essential. Only now, at Harry's gentle probing, had he been able to remember the why. Looking at their guest, he chuckled when realising that nobody here was a mere 'guest'. They all were precious to someone in his family, and Arthur wanted to pay homage to that. "For a long time, our families were considered 'blood traitors', for entirely different reasons. Though we mostly kept out of the day to day politics of our world, I feel, that we have missed a great opportunity to become friends ahead of our children bringing us together. Andromeda, Edward, I can't express the sympathy and sorrow I feel on your behalf. At the same time, I am grateful, because, despite the losses the war has demanded from us, it brought us together. Tonight, I am happy to invite the two of you to stand between Molly and my daughter, to celebrate this year's solstice with us." Arthur was well aware that Teddy would have preferred a different place, where no other adults would stand between him and Victoire, when he and his grandmother joined the circle. But Arthur knew that now was not the time for gossip and children socialising. That would come later in leaps and bounds. Only a few people remained, most of them hovering uneasily at the edge of the gathering.

Looking at the Malfoys, who put a lot of effort into hiding behind their Slytherin masks, the head of the Weasley family took a deep breath. "No love is lost between the two of us, is it, Malfoy?" He had to admire the pure-blood, for his composure when facing the vast number of Weasleys scrutinising him. "It takes a strong child to question the teachings of his father, and an even stronger man to rethink his own convictions. Once, we debated our convictions of what counted as a disgrace to wizarding kind. We had to agree to disagree, … with flying fists," he added self-deprecating, before returning to the matter at hand. "However, things have changed. I think we can realise now, that we are more alike than we ever wanted to acknowledge. In the end, for both of us, all that we did was supposed to be in the best interest of our family. Therefore, I would like to invite you to stand by my side, on this hallowed night so our families can celebrate together."

Having stood close to the Malfoys, only Harry could spot the surprise on his vassal's face. He smiled gratefully at Arthur for reaching out to a man who had offered him nothing but contempt in the past. Harry had been hesitant to have the pure-blood family under his care join him tonight. But both the patriarch and the matriarch of the Weasley clan had promised that they were ready to bury old grudges in favour of having people important to Harry with them tonight. Now, the young wizard was glad, when Lucius indicated a respectful bow and replied evenly, "I would be honoured," before he joined the sea of redheads and his sister-in-law.

With a decisive nod, the head of the Weasley family looked at the white-haired woman, that remained. "Narcissa, though I know that Harry would never talk about it, I am well aware of the length you have gone for him, ever since he offered your family shelter. Words will never be enough to express my gratitude for the support you have given. All I can do is invite you tonight to celebrate the hunt with us. I know things have not been easy, but the future looks bright tonight. Therefore, I hope we can set the foundation for our families to experience that together."

With a tilt of her head that inexplicably looked both regal and grateful, Narcissa merely replied, "Thank you," before reaching for the hand Molly had offered with a smile and allowed the other witch to pull her into the circle. Immediately Teddy beamed at her and reached for her hand as well. He then stood sandwiched between his grandmother and his great-aunt.

Harry and Draco were the last ones, who stood on the outside now. While the blond shivered slightly, making Harry step closer to him in wordless support, the raven-haired looked at his chosen family. His heart was overflowing with love for these people. For more than ten years now, they have stood by him. Not because he had been born their child, but because they had chosen to treat him as such.

"Harry, your means of arrival in this house were as unconventional as everything else about you. More than once have I tried to talk Albus into letting you join us right from the beginning of the summer. However, the headmaster considered your safety more important than your happiness. That was something the two of us always disagreed on. Though my family was put in danger by our mere association with you, not a single member ever doubted that you are one of us. You have saved the lives of some of my children, as well as mine, on one memorable occasion." All eyes were drawn to Arthur's wrist, where the scars of Nagini's bite remained to this day. "So, I am proud to call you my son in everything but blood."

The young wizard could not help the glow on his cheeks and the tears in his eyes when his family smiled at him. However, he was surprised, when - instead of inviting him into the circle, the elderly wizard addressed the blond by his side. "Draco, where Harry's life was marked by difficult choices, sometimes it must have seemed that you were given none. Trapped by your upbringing and your father's … associates, you were forced onto a path of destruction that nearly destroyed you and your family. Yet, as I said before, it takes a lot to question the convictions and beliefs we were raised with, and in the end, you made the right decisions. Not easy ones mind you, but decisions, I am convinced will lead you and yours into a better future. So please, allow me to invite you to stand by Harry's side today and join our celebration."

Choosing a place beside his two best friends, Harry guided Draco along to stand between himself and Hermione.

Smiling at the circle, Arthur clasped hands with Harry and Lucius. Both continued the gesture until the circle was closed by Molly and Narcissa. After a deep breath, the older wizard conjured memories of his parents and siblings standing side by side, recalling a time when his father had spoken these ancient prayers.

"With all our strength and weaknesses, Hopes and fears we come to you now, Lady Magic. Fill us," he pleaded.

"Renew us," was the answering plea from family and friends.

"Take us," he requested.

"Use us," the circle replied.

"As your lights in a world of darkness, strengthened by your power."

"The power of our land."

"Our land lives, but has yet to know life at its fullest.  
Our land loves, but has yet to know the love of all.  
Our land seeks,"

"And together we will find," the gathering replied solemnly.

After a few heartbeats, they let go and pulled out their wands, pointing them at the logs that had been stacked in the middle of the runic circle. "Transmutare Praedae."

A swirl of magic gathered around the wood before it exploded into motion. Ducks, doves, rabbits and all other kinds of woodland creatures dashed out between them, making for the surrounding lands.

"I would like to invite all of you to join us in a Solstice Hunt. We will meet here at midnight, to feast and celebrate. For those who manage to catch prey, you are welcome to bring it back. Those who don't, please help us to gather wood, so the bonfire we will light tonight might be touched by the rising sun tomorrow."

\--O-O--

Tilting his head once more in gratitude, Lucius stepped back from Arthur before joining his liege. He managed to catch his son's confused question. "How should we hunt? The Weasleys don't have horses."

Trading a knowing look with his best friend, Harry let Ron reply, "A horse wouldn't catch you a dove, now, would it, Malfoy?"

While Harry summoned, "Accio Nimbus brooms."

Draco's eyes became impossibly large when two old racing brooms passed him by. He could not even remember the last time he had mounted one, just for fun and games. These last few years the only brooms he had clutched, had been those for cleaning. The longing was so prominent on his face that Harry pushed a Nimbus 2001 at him almost instantly. "Here, get a feel for it."

Encouraged by Harry's smile, Draco clasped the wood and was in the air a heartbeat later. He rose, dove, zig-zagged and pulled up a trail of freshly fallen snow, a few minutes later. Still, he returned to the ground when he noticed Teddy waving at him excitedly. The moment, he touched down, his little cousin was upon him.

"Can I ride with you? I wanted to go with Victoire, but she rides with her mum, and they have this really fast broom … lighting bolt seven … and Aunt Ginny has her work-broom, but won't take me because she says I might fall and yours is the next fastest since George already takes Dominique, and I really want to catch up with her, so can I go with you p l e a s e!"

Having gotten only about half of the rapid-fire explanation, Draco merely shrugged and concentrated on the gist of the message. Holding out his hand, he smiled encouragingly, "Of course, you can ride with me. However, you will just have to remember never to let go."

"I won't!" Teddy squeaked excitedly, bouncing up and down, his hair turning from strawberry blond to an excited fire-red. With Harry's help, they conjured a second set of stirrups for the Nimbus and off Draco and Teddy were.

Aware of the initial instruction to stay close to his liege, but not willing to abandon the last of his pride, Lucius folded his arms before his chest. "If you think that I will share a broom like a child, think again!"

"No?" Harry gazed at his vassal, his face a picture of innocence. "Well, in that case, you better keep up!" Tossing the platinum-haired the Nimbus 2000, he summoned again, "Accio Firebolt!"

Harry was mounting a copy of his very first broom, the moment it was within reach, spiralling into the air.

Confused, Lucius followed, shouting over the wind, "But this broom has been outdated for more than a decade!"

Laughing for the pure joy of being in the air again, Harry flew circles around the other man. "After the Nimbus was thrashed, the Firebolt was the second broom I owned and rode through nearly my entire Quidditch career at Hogwarts. After tonight, we will look into a better, brighter future. But none of it will be worth anything if we forgot about our past."

Tilting his head, Lucius challenged, "You'll never have a chance to outfly me on this model."

Chuckling, Harry hovered beside the older wizard, his eyes alight. "Then catch me if you can!" Then he leaned over the handle, bursting into the star-filled night.

Watching her husband from the ground, Narcissa could only agree when she heard Hermione Granger explain to her daughter, "Remember, Rosie, men never grow up. The only thing that changes is the nature of their toys."

Pondering the statement, little Rose Granger-Weasley stated after a minute, "They get more expensive!"

Laughing, the muggle-born witch caressed her daughter's head and confirmed. "That they do. Now, do you want to help us prepare the feast?"

"I'll mash the potatoes!" The little girl exclaimed excited, running towards the kitchen.

Following at a more sedated pace, Hermione joined Narcissa, smiling inwardly when the pure-blood commented, "You are very fortunate to be considered part of this family."

"You might be too, one day," Hermione replied. Fortunately, she was spared to explain herself, when Molly called for help to tame her over-excited daughter, who seemed determined to mash potatoes that had not even been cooked.

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Teddy grinned from one side of their faces to the other, presenting half a dozen doves the blond had managed to capture, his seeker-instincts serving him well. However, as soon as the child spotted the tip of a white snout, peeking out of Harry's collar, Teddy was upon his godfather in an instant.  
> "What is it? What is it? Let me see!" He insisted, climbing Harry like a tree.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feasts were where Ron could shine. He enjoyed thinking up new recipes, finding the ingredients and surprising his family with the spoils of his efforts. The young wizard was thriving in the kitchen. Yet nothing compared to the joy he displayed when his family actually enjoyed his efforts and made their pleasure known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, we are still celebrating the Winter Solstice. Since this is a time of prayer, I looked up ancient ones and found a Celtic Sunrise-Prayer I liked very much. However, since it was not exactly what I wanted, I took the liberty to adjust it to my needs. I mean no offence and you are warned in advance.  
> Now, enjoy this new chapter :).

Lucius had managed to catch a duck and a dove and was smiling smugly when his liege touched down on the ground beside him. Harry had not managed to capture even one of the conjured animals and was currently wrestling with the reason for that. Right at the start of the hunt, their transfigured prey had flushed a mangled and half-starved snow fox, from his hiding place; a rotten tree at the edge of the forest. The beast had been half mad with fear and hunger, darting over snow-covered fields in a desperate attempt to find new shelter. Only when the animal had been at the end of its strength, had Harry been able to pick it up without getting bitten. However, as soon as the kit had realised that the human had no intentions of harming it, it had tried to burrow into the young wizard's cloak to find protection from the wind. Though Harry had accommodated the animal, it had been a constant struggle to keep it from falling off the soaring broom, as the fox kept crawling around inside his jacket.

So, despite having nothing to add to the bonfire, Harry gladly cast a _Finite_ on Lucius' prey and helped the pureblood to arrange it and the logs of wood, the man had collected on their behalf. A month prior, when Arthur had first invited him for a brainstorming session on the Winter Solstice celebration, they had agreed to transfigure prey, since Victoire had burst into tears when understanding that the spoils of the hunt were supposed to be killed and eaten. Hence, every family in attendance had been given one dish to add to the feast, while the prey of the ritual hunt would return to its original state.

Draco and Teddy grinned from one side of their faces to the other, presenting half a dozen doves the blond had managed to capture, his seeker-instincts serving him well. However, as soon as the child spotted the tip of a white snout, peeking out of Harry's collar, Teddy was upon his godfather in an instant.

"What is it? What is it? Let me see!" He insisted, climbing Harry like a tree.

Careful, as to not let the half-starved animal escape, Harry opened his arms, sinking to his knees.

Awed the young metamorphmagus' hair turned a snowy white when he reached out to let the little fox sniff his fingers. Only when the trembling eased, did he cautiously touch the head of the shy animal. To Harry's relief, the boy was overly cautious as he whispered, "He looks hungry."

Nodding, the young wizard confirmed, "I think he's all alone with no one to hunt for him. He seems to have been born offseason. I don't know what's up with that."

Relaxing slightly, since there seemed to be no immediate danger, the little guy nudged Teddy's hand so the boy would continue his petting. At least until the child nodded to himself and turned around, screaming out loud, "Vicki, look what Harry found!"

Unaware of having frightened the animal, that now made a valiant effort of fusing with Harry's stomach, he promised in a whisper, "I'll get some food for him."

Once the children had started their quest for proper animal food, Harry allowed Lucius to help him to his feet and then remove his cloak, when they entered the burrow. In a way, it felt wrong to have the older pure-blood act like his servant. However, since Lucius did not seem to think anything of it, Harry but nodded gratefully, at the support. In the end, he had his arms full of frightened fox anyway.

For the next half hour, the raven-haired wizard and his white-haired charge were the centres of attention. Harry did his best not to let the agitated animal escape, while the children tried to offer treats of bread, fruit and chunks of meat they had stolen from the kitchen, irritating the kit further. Surprisingly, it was Draco who put an end to all the commotion.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," the blond huffed exasperated, grabbing the small fox at the scruff of its neck. "Charles, if you could assist me, please."

Peeking in through the window - the eldest Weasleys had worked tirelessly, for the last hour, to set up a pavilion with sufficient warming charms to hold all guests - the dragon tamer asked baffled, "Is that a snow fox?"

"Astute observation," Draco drawled, gesturing for the redhead to open the door for him. "A scared, overwhelmed, nervous fox to be precise." He glared at Harry as if this was somehow his fault.

Only with great effort, was Harry able to keep the children inside, now that their object of interest had been taken away. Once he managed to follow his companion, he noticed that Charlie had conjured an enclosure of sorts, where Draco was currently lining an old laundry box with threadbare cushions and wrapped it with several blankets to create a makeshift hovel.

"Do you think he will go in there?" Harry inquired curiously. He really could not see the shy animal confine itself out of its own free will.

" **She** ," Draco emphasised, "will certainly prefer a cool, dark and most importantly quiet shelter, over the heat and noise in the burrow."

"She's a she?"

"She's a she!" Charlie confirmed with a chuckle, handing Draco a bowl of raw meat. "Put that in the corner, and she will be in there faster than you can say 'Quidditch'."

True to Charlie's prediction, the little fox peeked out of Draco's jacket and sniffed excitedly at the bowl. With a tiny smile, the blond put it into her new 'cavern', watching her scramble after it. Pulling the blankets close, he climbed out of the enclosure. Raising his eyebrows at Harry, he asked, "Can we eat?"

The calm and collected Slytherin-façade was back in place, but the raven-haired still remembered the tender looks Draco had given the neglected and starved animal. Following him into the burrow, Harry wondered if his former rival had ever had a pet like Hedwig. At Hogwarts, Harry had believed the Slytherin to be incapable of caring about anything but himself. Now, things were … different. He and Foxglove had a mutually beneficial relationship. But Harry would hardly call the owl his 'pet'. He nested in the garden of Grimmauld Place, as per his own decision, and was occasionally agreeable to transporting letters in exchange for treats.

Hedwig had done that, but so much more. She had lived with Harry, had listened to his problems. Had offered companionship … friendship even. She had been the one living soul, who had accepted the young wizard for who he was, staying by his side through all hardships. In the end, she had even saved his life. Somehow, Harry doubted that Draco had ever had someone like that in his life.

\--O-O--

The feast was loud and joyous and boisterous and … well, mainly loud. With the sheer number of Weasleys, not to mention their respective guests, it was only natural things tended to end up that way. And though Harry could see his purebloods sitting at the table, poised and perfectly polite whenever someone addressed them, he also noticed the tightness around Narcissa's eyes and the rigid tension that held Lucius upright. Trading looks with Andromeda and the other mothers, Harry lifted Dominique into his arms and held out his hand for Victoire.

The same time, Teddy protested as his grandmother picked him up. "But I am not … not tired at all!" He yawned, weakly pushing against her grip.

"Of course not, pup," Harry assured him. "Nobody needs any sleep on a night like this."

"Cissy, will you take Rose?" Andromeda inquired, Ron handing over his dozing daughter easily.

Narcissa followed the request, and Lucius easily took Dominique, when Harry handed her over, leaving the young wizard free to pick up Lucy from Percy's lap and reach out for little Molly, who had curled up beside her mother.

Once the adults had arranged all children on various sofas and armchairs across the living-room, Harry pulled out Hermione's battered copy of the Tales of Beetle the Bard, offering it to Narcissa. Quietly, he suggested, "I was hoping to be able to persuade you and Lucius to read to the children for a while, so we can all take a little breather." He gestured outside.

Smiling gratefully, the pure-blood witch took the book and claimed a seat on the sofa, where Rose instantly snuggled into her lap. Victoire nestled into her left side, and Teddy squeezed himself between Lucius and her on the right. After trading a contented smile with her husband, who stretched out his arm over the backrest of the sofa, treading his fingers through her strands, she started to read in a soothing tone, "There were once three brothers, who were travelling along a lonely winding road, at twilight."

"Midnight," Victoire mumbled sleepily. "Grandma always says 'midnight'."

"Midnight it is then," the witch corrected herself, caressing the girl's head to ease her into sleep. "There were once three brothers, who were travelling along a lonely winding road, at midnight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water …"

The children were all asleep, even before Antioch could face the consequences of his pride. Spreading blankets over them, Harry – who had leaned against the door until now, listening to the tale recited in a mother's voice – asked quietly, "Would you mind guarding their sleep?"

Adjusting Teddy and Rose, leaning against her husband, Narcissa shook her head. "Not at all."

With a content smile, Harry turned towards the door.

"My Lord."

"Not him, Lucius."

Turning towards his vassal, he met gentle silver-grey eyes, who regarded him not only with respect but admiration as the pure-blood stated, "And yet, you are a better master than he has ever been."

Accepting the compliment, Harry replied evenly, "Thank you." Before leaving the Malfoys for some much-needed quiet time.

Once he left the burrow, he found the rest of his family lounging around the huge bonfire, spreading over transfigured sofas and loveseats. Easily slipping down beside Draco, he pulled the blond close, so he could cover them both with the quilt Molly sent over with a flicker of her wand. At first, his companion resisted the gesture, but after a minute, when nobody seemed inclined to comment on their proximity, Draco relaxed into the impromptu embrace. Neither he nor Harry noticed the meaningful glances George threw his sister, and the sly smile she offered in return.

The night passed in quiet conversation, joyous laughter and the recollection of happy memories. Most family members rose out of a light doze, when Arthur left his place beside Molly, declaring solemnly, "It is time!"

Watching the horizon and the slowly dying fire, the adults vanished the couches and went into the burrow, to collect their children. Once more, they claimed the places, Arthur had invited them to before. When everybody was present, the patriarch reached out to take Lucius and Harry's hand, waiting for the circle to complete.

Tense anticipation filled the air, rousing even the smallest children out of their sleepy haze. Thumbs in their mouths - clinging to their parents, or godfather in Teddy's case - they looked around with shining eyes. When the first ray of the weak winter's sun climbed above the horizon, Arthur began the prayer. Facing south, he took in the beloved faces of his family and friends.

"In this time, when it is darkest,  
we offer gratitude for all there was and is,  
and for all there is about to be."

Picking up the cue from his father, Bill raised his eyes, towards the still dark western sky.

"In this season of expectation,  
we draw near in unity and peace,  
to offer praise and worship to the spirit of magic."

Squeezing Narcissa's hand, who had mouthed along the words of the ancient prayer with tears in her eyes, Molly lifted her head to gaze at her husband, who had claimed the position of the North Star. A loving smile lit up her features, as she prayed in a warm voice.

"At this time and in this place,  
where the sky touches our land,  
we look forward with joy and hope into this new year."

At last, Charlie opened his eyes. He had revelled in the first rays of sunshine, washing over his face. Now he concluded in a firm tone.

"Lady Magic, we greet you on this joyous morning,  
may your light bring a new dawn,  
and your grace empower our minds, hearts and souls."

As one, all purebloods raised their hands and hearts, faced east and promised in one voice.

"So mote it be!"

It was magic so old it was not even magic any more. As the first daylight washed over them, their very being was imbued with power, hope and peace. All wands were drawn, aiming at the ashes of the dying fire and without even a spell being whispered, the leftovers burst into a million sparks, shimmering in the sunlight, before they were carried away. The air around them was festive and reverent when the witches and wizards returned to the burrow. Though no words were spoken, their goodbyes were warm and sincere as the guests departed.

\--O-O--

At No 12 Grimmauld Place, Draco and Harry climbed the stairs to the third floor, entering Snape's room and took positions at the sides of the bed. After but one look, they reached for a hand each. Draco places his palm over their patient's forehead, while Harry put his over the Potion Master's heart. For several minutes, they allowed the energy, that filled them, to flow into the unconscious man. Then, on an unspoken command, they released the wizard's hands and reached for each other.

When magic was balanced, it was at its strongest. And though Hogwarts had never offered lectures on such essential truths, both Draco and Harry were aware of it. Therefore, they held on, until the current of power was flowing evenly between all three of them. Once the equilibrium had been restored, they stepped back from the bed, watching the door hesitant. Draco let his eyes travel over the room, whispering, "Maybe we could …"

In a heartbeat, Harry decided and nudged quietly, "Go, change," while weaving his wand over the armchair, that stood beside the bed. He did not register Draco's smile, when the pureblood realised, that - while the cushiony chair had expanded into a large chaise - it would still be a tight fit with both on it. Still, he did not protest when he returned, clad in dark-green silk-pyjamas. The raven-haired had already claimed a place on their make-shift bed and wordlessly pulled Draco into his arms. It was not luxurious or even overly comfortable, but it was the best sleep they had gotten in a very long time. Neither noticed the sparks that drifted into the room, despite the closed window, settling over their precious patient. Nor were they aware of their quilt, travelling upwards, to cover their shivering forms, after it had slipped down mid-morning.

\--O-O--

For the next three days, Harry and Draco poured all their renewed energy into their work. And while the Auror stumbled through the floo triumphantly on Christmas Eve, having finally locked away his unicorn-blood traders, the potioneer was at an impasse. During their early breakfast, where Draco dutifully listened to Harry's description of how helpful Hagrid had been; and, how the traders had pleaded to be taken into custody when facing an enraged half-giant who was bandaging a wounded unicorn while shouting abuse at them. The raven-haired was brushing away tears of laughter, after having finished his tale. "How about you? Have you made any progress?"

Resigned, the blond admitted, "I'm at the end of my wits. While I may theoretically have an idea on how to stabilise the poison, I lack the means to actually try it. I need some basics. Without them, I'm virtually useless."

"You need a lab," Harry concluded. "And your …"

Yet before he could finish that sentence, a hissing noise drew his attention. "There is someone in the floo." Harry translated the information the wards were giving him. "It's for you."

"For me?"

Puzzled, since very few people were actually aware of them being awake at this hour, they interrupted their breakfast and left for the living-room. Worried that something might be wrong with his parents, Draco immediately relaxed, when he spotted Charles Weasley in the flames. Kneeling before the hearth, both young wizards were surprised when the redhead did not even bother with a greeting. "Harry, can I borrow Draco?"

"I … he …" After trading a confused look, the blond merely shrugged, so Harry nodded. "Yea … sure."

The relief was palpable in the dragon-tamer's eyes. "Great! Don't worry, I'll bring him to Ron and Hermione's in the evening. Come on through, Draco."

The two steamrolled wizards traded another shrug before Draco instructed, "The overnight-bag is in the bathroom. Just throw in my toiletries, and I'm good."

"Alright," Harry promised, watching his companion leave.

After he had extinguished the flames, the young Auror called. "Kreacher!"

Popping into existence right next to him, startling the overly tired wizard, the elf barked, "Master wants to lower his voice. Emerald is still asleep."

Sleep sounded really good right now. Still, there was something Harry was supposed to remember. Oh, yes. "Kreacher, Draco will need an overnight bag with dress robes. But the comfortable ones, not the ones from Nott. Oh, and wake me up around two. I promised Ron that I would help with breakfast. So, I have to do some cooking in advance."

During their hunt, but especially after starting his life with Hermione, Ron had discovered, that he had a knack for cooking. Undoubtedly a skill inherited from his mother. He managed to put decent meals on the table with but a few flicks of his wand. Hermione had been quite reluctant at the beginning, afraid that Ron would 'bring work home' so to speak. However, she could not be prouder of her husband these days. His skills had significantly expanded, and the redhead thrived to put a new spin on old dishes, making them savoury but never too exotic.

Feasts were where Ron could shine. He enjoyed thinking up new recipes, finding the ingredients and surprising his family with the spoils of his efforts. The young wizard was thriving in the kitchen. Yet nothing compared to the joy he displayed when his family actually enjoyed his efforts and made their pleasure known.

Since Molly had hosted the Winter Solstice, Ron and Hermione had insisted on inviting the family for Christmas Eve, with an overnight-stay until Christmas Morning. Harry had helped; by borrowing tents from colleagues; and the promise to help with breakfast. Because no matter how extraordinary Ron's skills were, he was still useless in the morning.

That's why Harry enjoyed a strong cup of tea at quarter past two in the afternoon, along with a delicious roast-beef sandwich, before he banished an irritated Kreacher from the kitchen. Basically, the guests tonight would mirror those from Yule, so the muggle-raised wizard had decided to go with the classics. A solid English Breakfast could never go amiss. So, he started preparing the dough for scones, fresh bread and wrapped up a few packages of toast. While he could finish baking the scones tomorrow, there was not enough form for the bread and the mushrooms and the fried tomatoes. Everything that could be prepared in advance was cut, diced and seasoned before Harry packed it up and put it under a preservation charm.

When he was finished around five, nearly the entire table of the kitchen was covered in boxes. Thank Merlin for Hermione's undetectable expansion charms. After a brief shower, Harry picked up the charmed picknick basket and his overnight bag and flooed to the Granger-Weasley house. Knowing his way around, he stored the perishables and peeked into the kitchen. As expected, Ron was in the middle of an organised chaos, where he put some last-minute touches on several dishes and charmed others for later consumption.

"Is Charlie around?"

Chuckling, Ron looked over his shoulder. "Oh, yes. He and your 'love interest' came in about half an hour ago. They are in the back garden. Hermione is helping them to set up a cage."

"A cage? For what?"

His best friend, though, merely grinned and gestured towards the back door. "See for yourself."

Entering the garden, Harry was baffled by the scene he found. Hermione and Charlie were in the process of weaving a delicate net of branches over a familiar laundry box. Draco, however, lay on his stomach, in the middle of the back garden, brawling with a haggard-looking snow-fox, that seemed to think the blond's fingers great entertainment. The usually so poised pure-blood laughed freely and rolled around the snow, wrestling with the little guy … girl, that seemed determined to climb all over him. The blond's eyes were shining with laughter, and that made something ache deep in Harry's chest.

When had he heard Draco laugh so freely, for the last time?

Had he ever?

"Oh, hey, Harry!" Charlie looked up after having finished his last charm to make the cage indestructible. "I'm sorry for having been so short with you, in the morning. But little Inari here ate very little since Yule. I was fresh out of ideas, and since she seemed to like Draco, I hoped that he could convince her."

"And, did it work?" Concerned, Harry scrutinised the little she-fox, who seemed a hairs-width away from starvation, but appeared determined not to let her new friend escape again. She japed and whined and scratched at his feet when Draco rose, only settling when the blond lifted her.

Petting her patiently, he replied proudly, "We managed to feed her a potion in the morning, that was laced with a mild pepper-up for animals and an appetiser. Since then, she has eaten an entire pound of cooked chicken breast."

" _You_ , you mean." Charlie corrected Draco, weaving his wand over the blond to clean and straighten his attire. "The little Miss here, only ate what Draco provided."

"Maybe, …" the blond started hesitant, looking from Harry to Charlie to the little fox in his arms. "I mean I know what we do is important. But maybe I could floo over, once or twice a day, to care for Inari. Ron and Hermione and really wrapped up, at the moment. With Christmas and the shop and a new baby on the way, they barely have a moment to breathe. But Granger … I mean Hermione said, that they have enough room for her. Just not the time." Draco looked at the bushy-haired witch pleadingly, when he noticed the confused and downright reluctant look on Harry's face.

However, Hermione did not seem ready to support his case. Instead, she waited out her best friend, who wanted to know, after a few moments of contemplation, "But why not simply take her with us to Grimmauld Place?"

"You would agree to that?" Draco asked flabbergasted.

"Sure, why not? I mean our garden is not as big as this one, but with a few fence-spells easily secure enough for your Inari to play around." The raven-haired shrugged, obviously not seeing a problem with adopting another animal. "Not much is growing there right now, but maybe you could take a look around, Charlie, just to make sure that nothing poisonous is around. She should be fine. For the first few nights, we can put the laundry box up in your room, Draco. Just until she is comfortable enough in her new surroundings. Then … maybe a dog-bed? Do foxes use dog-beds?"

Apparently wrapped up in this fundamental question, Harry did not notice his companion's bafflement until Draco exploded. "But I thought you didn't like pets?!" All afternoon he had tried to come up with possible arrangements for the little she-fox. He had not wanted to assume anything or impose on his host in any way. Harry was incredibly accommodating, so Draco had not wanted to add any kind of burden. The arrangement Granger had proposed, had seemed like the most sensible solution so far. Not that he had been happy with the idea of Inari being alone for most of the day. But Draco had honestly not seen any other way. And now, Potter made it sound as if it was no trouble at all to bring her along.

"What gave you that idea?"

"Your own owl sleeps in the garden!"

Laughing out loud at Draco's indignant anger, Harry explained, "Because Foxglove can't be arsed to even look at the owlery I have renovated just for him, after he arrived at No 12 Grimmauld Place. He rejects the cage as well as the perch I have installed in my bedroom and in the office. Kreacher draws the line at having him in the kitchen. The only compromise we all could agree upon was Fox sleeping in the garden. He does not even let me feed him. He accepts the occasional treat, especially around a delivery, but hunting for himself seems to be a matter of pride."

To assure himself, the blond repeated, "So you would not be bothered of having a wild fox in the house?"

Shrugging, the Auror pondered, "Keep her out of my office. Since you love the books in the Black-Library nearly more than me, I have complete faith in you to keep anything of value safe." When he noticed the visible sag in Draco's shoulders, Harry stepped up to him and reached out. "Honestly, Draco, I trust you." Reaching out to caress the little fox's head, the raven-haired smiled. "If you want to bring her along, I have complete faith in you to take care of her."

Leaning against Harry ever so slightly, something Draco would blame on the uneven ground until his dying day, the blond mumbled, "Thank you."

\--O-O--

All hell broke loose around six when the first guests arrived. The children seemed to instantly sniff out their little friend from Yule and gathered around Draco, with palpable fascination. Inari, however, seemed unsure of what to make of all the attention. Yes, she sniffed curiously at various hands, that reached out to pet her but only allowed the contact as long as she was secure in Draco's arms. The blond seemed content with that arrangement, able to feel his new friend tense when it became too much for her. After a good half hour, he shooed the kids away, fed her a few more bites before securing Inari in the conjured cage. He and Charlie had discovered that she would go into her laundry-box willingly if it carried some of Draco's scent. So, the blond was now one shirt short but had a happy fox.

Slipping into the open-floorplan house, he came by in the middle of an argument between Molly and Hermione about the Weasleys-parents sleeping arrangements.

"And I told you, it's no trouble at all," Hermione insisted. "We traded the bedding and the pillows for yours, so you will be comfortable.

Molly, however, shook her head decidedly. "Absolutely not, dearie. You went through all the trouble to invite the family. The least we can do is let you sleep in your own bed!"

Hermione seemed ready to scream at her stubborn mother-in-law, but Ron came to her aid. Placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, the redhead inquired, "Mum, didn't you always tell us, that what you say goes, at the burrow?"

"Of course," Molly confirmed. "Otherwise, I would never have gotten you lot under control!"

Kissing his wife's head, Ron smiled at his mother knowingly. "We are not at the burrow today."

Deflating with an understanding smile, the matriarch of the Weasley family squeezed Hermione's hand and finally agreed. "You are right, of course. I'm sorry, Hermione-dear. Just let me bring our bags around."

Looking after her in-laws, the young witch turned in her husband's arms and kissed him lovingly. "Thank you."

Enjoying the attention, Ron grinned, "Forever at your service, my Lady," before vanishing into the kitchen again.

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a deep breath, Ron cut off his brother in a hoarse voice, "It's alright, Bill, thanks."  
> Aware that there was something he was not getting, but reluctant to poke that particular hippogriff with a stick, Bill retreated, leaving behind a frozen 'golden trio' and an irritated Draco.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Blimey," Ron paled, "The kids must have driven mum spare by now!"
> 
> Speeding up their steps, the Ron, Hermione, Harry and Draco burst into the kitchen, only to step back out and in again, making sure they had not entered an alternate reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Outlook for Chapter 23:  
> Like it had always been in the Great Hall, things just happened. The house elf had to be in a room with a near identical setup, because all of a sudden, the furni-ture was replaced. But not with new, shiny things. The four-poster-bed had clearly been in use before, as had the desk in the corner. The chair, in front of it, looked well loved, but what made Draco understand, where these things had come form, was the armchair that had replaced the one beside the bed. It was black, and the leather was buttery-soft and the blond would have recognised it anywhere, since he had used it countless times in the past.

Once the drama had played out, Draco went to search for Harry. As expected, he found him at the heart of a pile of children, who were wrestling their favourite uncle to the ground. Aiming to preserve at least a little of his dignity, the blond approached the shrieking and giggling heap and inquired, "I would very much like to freshen up and change. Could you point me to my bag?"

A finger wiggled out and pointed towards a corner.

"That is **your** bag, Potter!" The pure-blood sighed, because - despite all the hardships his family had suffered - he would **never** use a bag of burgundy chintz!

"'S 'nly 'ne."

"Excuse me?"

The pile of kids shifted, and at the other end of where Draco would have expected it, Harry appeared.

"Off! Get off of me you annoying little pixies! Go, find Ron and ask what's for dessert."

"Pudding!"

With a war-cry that called for sugar, the children stormed the kitchen. A heartbeat later an exasperated roar sounded through the house, "Harry!"

Seemingly unbothered, the wizard in question repaired his bent glasses and straightened his clothes. Draco's eyes were most certainly not drawn to the happy trail, that led from the raven-haired's navel to the waistband of his jeans. He just wanted to change. The only reason for this conversation were his dress-robes, thank you very much!

Looking halfway decent, Harry repeated, "That's the only bag Kreacher gave me." Shaking his head, since it should have occurred to him that he was one overnight-bag short, he called out, "Kreacher!"

With a pop, the elf appeared. With great dignity, he bowed and inquired, "What can Kreacher do for you, Master?" At the same time, he glared mutinous at the two wizards, daring them to say something about the tinsel that dangled off his ears.

Biting his lips, to keep himself from laughing, Harry needed a few moments to school his features, before he managed to ask with a straight face, "Draco needs his dress-robes and toiletries."

Wordlessly, but clearly exasperated, Kreacher pointed at the chintz-bag.

"Ahm, … I do too?"

Visibly rolling his eyes, the elf snapped, "Since Master Harry and Master Draco will sleep together, Kreacher packed only one bag. Master had enough on his hands with the food!"

Pop!

"Spoon!"

Obviously not enjoying being left alone, Emerald had popped in between her Master and her adoptive father, beaming up at them.

Chuckling, Harry kneeled and caressed her head. "Nearly, sweetheart."

Angry about the commotion, Kreacher picked up the girl. "That's a fish-fork, Emerald, as I have told you three times already. And it is considered impolite to pop in without being called."

Though the little one seemed unperturbed, Harry tried to soften the harsh words, "She is not even a year old, Kreacher. Cut her some slack."

"Age is no excuse, not to know one's cutlery. If Master Harry has no further need for us, I will return to Grimmauld Place to make sure, baby has not changed the entire silver to tinsel." And just like that, the two elves were gone.

"Emerald surely loves sparkly things. I see a shiny future ahead of us," Draco remarked, claiming the damn bag. "Alright, let's find the curse-breaker to discover where we will sleep."

Wordlessly, Harry followed. Both seemed determined not to mention Kreacher's conviction of them sharing quarters. It **had** happened, but not **that** often! Nor was it **that** much better than sleeping alone.

\--O-O--

"Please tell me you are not serious." Draco looked around, judging the worn-down interior of the tent, Bill Weasley had pointed him, Harry, Ron and Hermione towards.

"It worked before," Harry whispered tonelessly, while the eldest Weasley - who had been put in charge of the sleeping arrangements - explained, "Well, I know it's not much, but I enlarged the beds, even if I had to take one out, to make enough room. Rose will sleep in her own room anyway, along with Victoire and Dominique. So, two should cut it for one night. And it … I don't know, it feels like yours. It was in your attic after all."

Taking a deep breath, Ron cut off his brother's rambling in a hoarse voice, "It's alright, Bill, thanks."

Aware that there was something he was not getting, but reluctant to poke that particular hippogriff with a stick, Bill retreated, leaving behind a frozen 'golden trio' and an irritated Draco.

"How?" Harry asked tonelessly, making the blond turn around to scrutinise him and his friends.

Looking at her husband, who sank down at the small table, attempting to turn on the wireless that stood there, Hermine rubbed her hands over her trousers. "Hikers found it. About a year ago. Fortunately, they were wizards. One of my notebooks lay on the table. I … you know I always write my name on the cover. They packed it up and sent it to me."

"The wards must have deteriorated."

Once a soft melody filled the tent, Ron rose and pulled his trembling wife into his arms. "Four years is a long time for them to hold. Yours were always the strongest."

Sinking down on the steps that separated the 'living room' from the 'bedroom', Harry looked around. "It doesn't feel as oppressive anymore; but then, the locket is gone after all."

"What locket?" Draco inquired, slowly catching up with what was going on.

At Harry's nearly unperceivable nod, Hermione replied, "Salazar Slytherin's locket." Drawing strength from her husband's embrace, remembering the end of this particular item, she added, "Ron destroyed it with the Sword of Godric Gryffindor."

'… the day he came back,' remained unsaid, but all three could hear it anyway.

All four actually, since all of a sudden, memories that were not his, rose to the surface of Draco's mind. "It weighted you down … like lead."

The blond looked at his companion, who sat hunched on the stairs, not looking up, but nodded nevertheless.

"It poisoned the very air around you, made you fight amongst each other. It made one of you leave."

This time, the memories brought tears to her eyes. Still, Hermione nodded as well.

Looking at the tall redhead, who clutched her so tightly, it had to be painful, Draco concluded, "Only destroying it, made you understand what Hermione and Harry truly are to each other."

"Yes," Ron whispered, reaching out for his best friend, pulling him into a three-way-hug.

Only when they were through, did Draco muster the courage, to meet emerald-green eyes and finally ask, "What's a Horcrux?"

Meeting Draco's gaze without hesitation - this conversation was long since overdue - the Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World explained, "An object in which a person conceals a part of their soul. They split it through murder, to hide a part of it outside of their body."

When Harry tapered off, Hermione continued for him, "That way, even if the body's attacked or destroyed, the wizard cannot die, for a part of his soul remains earthbound. Herpo the Foul, in Ancient Greece, was the first known wizard who practised this atrocity."

"Not only an object …" Draco corrected nearly inaudibly, sinking down at the small table the Gryffindors had nudged him towards, when the blood had drained from his face. It was a good thing since he was not sure if he could have remained on his feet, under the slaughter of memories and their implications.

Exchanging a look with his friends, Ron confirmed, "No, … not just an object."

"The snake, …" Draco shuddered, and with rising horror in his eyes, he looked back at Harry. "The snake, and you! That's why you walked into the forest … why you had to die, … for his Horcrux to die with you." Looking around, he swallowed around a constricting throat. "And this is _the_ tent. The one you used during your hunt to find the others. To find them and destroy them, so He would finally be gone for good."

"Yes." Looking around helplessly, Harry dragged his fingers through his messy hair, sinking down on the bench beside his blond friend. "Maybe this is not such a good idea."

Glancing at Hermine, Ron shrugged, "We can ask Percy or George to switch."

"No!"

Surprised by Draco's decisiveness, the trio looked at him. His hand slipped back to the table, from where he had touched his chest before. The stone Teddy had given him resting over his heart, centring him, reminding him that family stood together, no matter how little time they had had to get to know each other.  "This is your Malfoy Manor … at least a little bit. We will stay here tonight, and by tomorrow evening, everything will be back to normal, and this will be nothing but a passing memory."

The Gryffindors knew the Slytherin to be right, they needed this, needed to face their fears. Still, this was nothing to Draco but a shabby tent, so Harry offered, "If you want, you can ask Charlie to trade tents with you. His one is much better maintained because he lives in it whenever he is out in the reserves that are removed from civilisation."

"No," the pure-blood contradicted softly, placing a comforting hand on Harry's bouncing knee. "You did not leave me alone to deal with my nightmares, at the beginning. I won't leave you alone with this. It's just for one night. I am sure I can suffer through it." He sighed dramatically, sounding so familiar from the blond prat they had known at school that it made them smile involuntarily.

For Draco, however, this was about more than loyalty. Harry needed a friend tonight, and he would be damned if he allowed yet another Weasley to share the raven-haired's bed. Rising he requested, "Now, Hermine, Ron, please be so kind to leave and give me a few minutes, to make sure that your friend is halfway decent for Christmas Eve."

When the couple rose as well, Hermine seemed to want to say something, but Ron simply squeezed Draco's shoulder and then nudged her, with a concerned, "Let's see if there is any pudding left, or if the little pixies had polished off every last crumb."

Pulling a change of clothes and some toiletries out of the horrible bag, the two wizards were in the process of putting on their dress-robes, when a realisation hit Draco. "That was the reason for you sleeping in my room. Am I right? Not some weird sense of proprietary!"

Fighting down his messy hair, Harry was at loss of what Draco was referring to. "What?"

Snatching the comb, the blond set to tame the rat's nest Harry Potter called his hair. "My nightmares … they were the reason for you sharing my bed … sharing your memories …"

Folding his arms in front of his chest defensively, when Draco slapped them away from his head, Harry shrugged. "You were scared to death; convinced that Tom would be back. I saw no other way."

Finishing the styling with a wandless spell he had learned basically in the cradle, Draco had to wait for a moment, until his companion would willingly meet his eyes, only then was he ready to admit, "I did not know how terrified I was of Him returning, until it lessened, after that first night at Grimmauld Place."

"I did not want you to be afraid. Getting away from the Manor was supposed to be a new beginning."

"It was," the Ex-Death-Eater sighed. "It's not okay, … I still have nightmares, but … but it's better than before. So, I guess, what I want to say is, thank you … thank you, Harry."

Entwining their fingers, squeezing Draco's briefly, the raven-haired nodded, "You are welcome."

\--O-O--

Christmas dinner was exactly as one would expect from the Weasley family: loud, boisterous, exuberant and happy. George had managed to hide a few products among the dishes, and soon people were squeaking, mewing, quaking or shifting through all the colours of the rainbow. Ron retaliated by serving his brother a special pudding that gave him a trunk. George, however, did not seem overly bothered by that. Instead, he trumpeted happily and used his new appendage to steal candy from the top of the Christmas tree.

Then there was dancing, and despite his protests of being too full, and not being that good of a dancer in the first place, Ginny managed to pull Harry to his feet. It was all in great fun, with the children joining in, using the couch table and the sofa to dance upon. George had even managed to rope Draco into dancing a few minutes to midnight. Once the clock struck twelve, the music morphed into a slow dance. Trading a glance with his sister, George and Ginny met on the dancefloor, trading partners with a simple, "Switch!"

For a moment, both young wizards froze, when suddenly standing in front of each other. Meanwhile, all pure-blood couples, including Lucius and Narcissa, had joined them, in the middle of the living-room. Looking around, recognising the others claiming a place in the traditional circle dance, Draco struck a formal pose, held out his hand and bowed deeply. "May I have this dance?"

Hesitant, the raven-haired placed his hand in Draco's. "I don't know the steps," he cautioned.

Squeezing his fingers, his partner promised, "I won't let you fall."

When that was met with a hesitant smile and a confirming nod, Draco pulled Harry close and claimed a spot in the circle. Apart from Molly and Arthur and the Malfoys, only Bill and Fleur and - surprisingly - Charlie and Ginny had joined them. No matter how little value the Weasleys put on blood-purity and the traditions that went with it, their two eldest children had been forced to learn those they were expected to know in pureblood society. Percy had been the first to put his foot down, refusing to learn this 'useless stuff'. Now, however, as Audrey was swaying in his arms, he clearly regretted this decision. Who had taught Ginny was everyone's guess, but she followed the steps with ease, not faltering once, earning her looks of pride from her fiancé and the rest of her family.

Harry was another matter entirely. However, he trusted his partner and allowed Draco to direct his every move, so they were able to follow the dance with minimal problems. Partners were switched several times, but of all the 'male' dancers, only Lucius was able to lead the young muggle-raised wizard as easily as his son. The traditional circle ended with the men kissing the 'women's'' fingers, and though Harry tried valiantly to suppress it, Ginny could spot the faint blush that coloured his cheeks, when Draco's lips actually brushed over the back of his hand. Passing George, on their way off the dance-floor, she high-fived her brother.

Nobody seemed to think it that strange of a behaviour. Lucius and Narcissa, however, traded soft smiles with Arthur and Molly and all four nodded appreciatively. There were worse things imaginable than their boys hooking up. They were good for one another.

\--O-O--

The 'golden trio' and Draco were the last to lounge in the living room. Only when the final embers of the fire sparked out, did Ron sigh, "I guess it's time to go to bed."

Reluctantly, Hermione and Harry followed; Draco a quiet sentinel at their backs. Nobody said a word when, one after the other, they prepared for bed. Emerging from the tiny bathroom, that was part of the tent - honestly, the pureblood could not even fathom to survive in such sub-standard living conditions, never mind having the capacity to plan the downfall of the darkest wizard of all, as these three Gryffindors had been able to - he noticed the electrical candle, that stood on a small stool between the two enlarged beds.

Draco had heard of these strange, muggle inventions but, much like anything else muggle, the need for it eluded him. The weak light, however, seemed to fascinate his companions, for their eyes seemed drawn to it. So, he simply crawled into bed, when Harry opened his arms for him and was asleep almost instantly.

Quiet sobs woke Draco, what felt like minutes later. Looking around, confused for a second, he noticed the tears streaming down Hermione's face, where she lay curled up on her and Ron's bed. Her husband was noticeably absent. Gazing towards the entrance, Draco found the shadow of a tall figure darkening the entryway. Patting out on quiet feet, Draco froze when he had a wand at his neck the moment he left the tent. For a heartbeat, he did not say anything, then Ron shakily lowered his wand, mumbling an embarrassed, "Sorry."

"Bad dreams?"

"Always," Ron admitted, casting a warming charm over himself and Draco. "It got better after Rose was born, but this tent … I left them. When they needed me the most, I abandoned them to their fates."

"That was not you," Draco tried to comfort, but the redhead cut him off, "Yes, it was!"

Shaking his head, rubbing at his tired eyes, Ron repeated a little more quietly, "Yes, it was, and that's the worst part. A Horcrux doesn't conjure feelings. It can only amplify what is already there."

"I know."

"Excuse me?" The redhead snapped, not unexpectedly. "How could you even fathom …"

The Ex-Death-Eater, however, remained utterly calm, when cutting Ron off, "The diary was one, and though a part of the Malfoy library has incredibly strong wards, it was part of our collection for longer than I am alive. And Nagini … spells were protecting her, but nothing to shield her magical aura. And … and then there was Him." Draco recalled quietly, rubbing his arms since the warming-charm was not enough to get rid of the goose-bumps that covered them. "So, I know. I know how it feels to be around something so evil, that you feel it permeates your very soul."

"You were not all bad!"

At Draco's incredulous look, Ron emphasised. "Look, I don't … you were a bastard, back at school; an arrogant, little snit that got away with far too much. But in the end, the three of us gave as good as we got and all the bad things you tried to do … everything you did, happened under pressure. That was not a Horcrux tainting your soul. You were an asshole, and you were scared, but you were never evil."

"Neither were you," Draco replied, touched by the comfort Ron was willing to offer.

Looking at the moon, Ron shrugged, "You are right. I guess I weren't, but I still was an asshole, and I was scared, making a wrong decision when my friends needed me."

"You came back," the blond reminded. "The moment Harry needed you the most, you were there, and that is all that matters." When the redhead did not reply, Draco put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "But now you should go back inside. Hermione does not like sleeping alone."

Returning the gesture for a moment, Ron disappeared into the tent, leaving the blond to ponder. An asshole and scared … it did not make up for all the wrongs Draco had committed, but it made them a little less of a burden. When he returned to bed, slipping between the sheets, Harry's arms instantly wrapped around him. In the end, maybe his father was right. Perhaps it was time to put the past to rest and thrive to become a better man in the future.

\--O-O--

"No … _No_ … **NO**!"

"Harry … No!"

Echoed screams shocked all of them out of their slumber. Ron and Harry were trading wide, fearful glances, before sagging back into their own bedding, apparently trying to calm their racing hearts. Once the raven-haired's breath had evened out, Draco rose for the tiny kitchen. He was not surprised to find herbal tea in the only cupboard, this was a Weasley tent after all, so he set out to cook some tea, while the three Gryffindors shuffled into the 'living-room' of the tent. Bleary-eyed, the quartet sat around the table, with Draco spooning a dash of sugar into his cup, while Harry served the others from the steaming pot. Nobody said a word, but the blond noticed, that the raven-haired was continually rubbing his neck and that Ron seemed obsessed with touching his friend as if to make sure that he was alive and well. When the trio sagged slowly, Draco hesitantly reached out for Weasley's wand, "May I?"

Releasing the death-grip, he had had on his wand, Ron nodded. Easily the blond pulled it from his fingers and merged the two beds into one. It was not perfect, and the miss-matching fabrics seemed a little shifty, but it would do for tonight. Gently he nudged the three, sleepy Gryffindors. "Come on, off to bed with you lot."

Drowsy, the trio trudged over and fell onto the mattress. Within moments, they lay curled around each other, fast asleep. Draco was a little surprised when Harry interwove their fingers, as he spooned him from behind. Still, it was a good feeling to be held, so the blond pulled himself closer and allowed himself to succumb to sleep again, hoping that this would be the last disturbance of the night.

\--O-O--

When Draco came around the next morning, he noticed his three companions laying side by side, their fingers entwined over Hermione's belly. The moment, he stirred, a weight lifted off his back. Embarrassed, the blond realised, that he had slept on Potter's chest … like a lover. Yet before he could reminisce on the thought, Ron stated, "You drugged us."

There was surprisingly little accusation in his voice. Still, his hands tightened protectively over his wife's body. So, Draco could not help but tense. What seemed to have been a good idea yesterday evening, might not be in the light of the new dawn. Harry's hand, soothingly caressing his back made him relax, ready to admit, "I did."

When the trio merely looked at him, he elaborated, "It was a dreamless sleep potion … a mild one and the three of you shared but one vial." Gazing at Hermione and Ron, he comforted, "It was a mostly herbal remedy with but a hint of magic to back it up. I would not have put your baby at risk … ever!"

Children were most precious, especially to a pure-blood like Draco. With most Ancient and Noble Houses struggling for even one heir, due to inbreeding, it was unthinkable for a Malfoy to put an unborn child at risk. While the Weasleys were a fertile bunch, surely at least Ron would know that.

To Draco's surprise, it was Hermione who whispered, "Thank you," and Harry continued, "We forgot how many bad memories this tent could bring up. Maybe one time is enough."

Though the blond could not decipher the meaning behind this sentence, an unspoken agreement seemed to pass between the three Gryffindors. Wordlessly they rose and changed. There seemed to be little thoughts of privacy between the three of them; a concept Draco could not share. When he emerged from the bathroom, they stood in the central area of the tent, looking around. Hermione held their night-clothes while Ron clutched the old wireless and the electrical candle. Harry was carrying their horrible burgundy chintz bag when they stepped outside.

Fortunately, the tents had been spread generously over the Weasley-Granger garden. Otherwise, it might have ended in disaster, when the three Gryffindors turned around and raised their wands, casting in one voice, " _Incendio!_ "

They watched impassively as the tent burnt to ashes, casting wards as to confine the fire, faint relief the only visible emotion on their faces.

"Breakfast?" Harry asked, looking at his friends.

Banishing the ashes, Hermione nodded, "Yes, please."

Apparently, with a little incineration, the trio seemed to be able to put the past to rest, since the next question of Ron's yawning mouth was, "Did you make the little breakfast muffins again? The ones with the eggs in the middle?"

"Eggs in a basket," Hermione injected, and Harry laughed, "Of course, I did. I'm just not sure if there will be any left. It's nearly nine in the morning after all."

"Blimey," Ron paled, "The kids must have driven mum spare by now!"

Speeding up their steps, the four burst into the kitchen, only to step back out and in again, making sure they had not entered an alternate reality. In their defence, the picture that presented itself was most unusual for a Weasley household. All children in attendance, sat at the enlarged kitchen-table that was adorned with mismatched plates, cups and glass-wear as well as all cutlery available in the house. That might not be that surprising, but nobody was loud or unruly nor reaching over his or her neighbours' plates for a certain dish. No, the children sat patiently, only nibbling on an assortment of diced fruits that lay on their plates. At the stove, in the middle of Harry's many food-containers stood Andromeda and Narcissa, preparing coffee and tea, slicing up rolls and reheating food Harry had prepared so painstakingly the day before.

When Teddy reached out for one of the cookies, that sat in a glass bowl in the middle of the table, Narcissa stated evenly, "Edward!" She did not even turn around, checking on the progress of the grilled tomatoes in the oven.

Quietly, her nephew defended himself, "But Victoire would like to have one."

"As would the others, I am sure." Finally looking at the kids, the witch stated, "As we have explained already, we are reviving old traditions this year, and they include a calm Christmas-breakfast before we dig into our presents. Now I want all of you to get up and wake your parents. You will do so quietly and lovingly, and if I hear a single scream, there will be no cookies. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Narcissa," came the collective reply. The older children made an effort to help the younger ones out of their seats, guiding them towards the guest rooms or into the garden.

The four young people that had watched this spectacle fascinated could only gape when Andromeda sagged in defeat, admitting, "Yes, you won. I will give you the recipe for grandmother's gingerbread cookies. But holding the baking ransom is hardly playing fair, dear sister."

Raising her eyebrows, Narcissa replied haughtily, "You challenged me to a quiet breakfast. At no point did you stipulate that I had to play fair."

"Cuddles!" Came a muffled shout from the garden, but before Andromeda could say something, the screamer was silenced with an anxious, "Shhhhh!"

"That was George," Ron deadpanned, still not sure if he was asleep or awake on this surreal morning.

Turning towards the quartet, Narcissa smiled and asked, "How did you sleep?"

"Better with the potion," Draco revealed, kissing his mother's cheek when she offered him a cup of tea.

Accepting coffee from Andromeda, Harry stated surprised, "The potion came from you?"

Nodding towards her sister, Narcissa revealed, "'Dromeda helps me out with a few herbs. Lucius sometimes suffers from nightmares, and though you need a wand to produce a potion, the lab at the Manor has enough magical residue left, for me to cook up a mild sleeping draught."

Taking a sip from her cup, decaffeinated tea naturally, Hermione requested, "Would you share the recipe? For the next few months, I am a little restricted on the potions I can take and sometimes … I would really appreciate it."

"You will have to be careful to prepare it since you have your wand for brewing."

Thinking about that for a second, stealing a slice of apple from her daughter's plate, the pregnant witch suggested, "If I provide the ingredients, could you brew it for me? I would compensate you for your time, of course."

Brewing for money would generally be beneath a woman of her standing. However, in the stipulations of her house-arrest, was no restriction of her making money from home. It had not been necessary, since who would ever employ someone of her meagre skill-set? A witch without a wand was as good as useless. However, herbal remedies for pregnant women …

"If I remember correctly, I might even have the recipe of a herbal pain reliever. I would need murtlap essence to brew it, but it should be safe for you to take."

"Mother and Aunt Walburga had a book on herbal remedies for pregnant women. Maybe I can find it in the attic."

Understanding that this was her sister's way of helping out with money she did not have, as the Tonks had never been particularly well off, Narcissa tilted her head gratefully. "That would be appreciated."

\--O-O--

The meal turned out a quiet affair. Ron put the old wireless on a shelf in a kitchen, and the entire family enjoyed a more or less calm breakfast while listening to Christmas Songs. Mostly the peaceful atmosphere could be attributed to the fact that Narcissa threatened the adults with decaffeinated beverages, should they not behave, and Andromeda zapped the kids with colourful sparkles when they reached for the cookies before their plates had been cleared.

So, it was nearly eleven, before they all gathered around the Christmas tree, to hand out the presents. Of course, the children had to come first, and there were a lot of screams and overjoyed exclamations to be heard. But once the little ones were out of the way, the adults could turn to their own gift-giving. It had been agreed upon, that everyone would receive but one gift. Not all Weasleys were that well off, so the money spent had to be limited somehow.

 

To Molly's joy, she was the one allowed to hand out the gifts.

>To Bill and Fleur, from Andromeda and family<

Surprised about what a distant aunt could give them, the oldest Weasley son dug into the paper. Out fell an assortment of scrolls and fabrics, decorated with the most intricate rune-sets.

"They are beautiful!" Fleur exclaimed, fingers tracing the strange patterns. Everyone could see the cogs of her brain working at top speed, coming up with new designs for her needlework, mirroring these runes. Bill, on the other hand, could actually read them, gapping at Andromeda, he stammered, "Where … How?!"

Shrugging, the elderly witch revealed, "I was raised a Black, and while my parents did not like me marrying a muggle-born, they did not deny me the small inheritance they could provide. Our family was always good with the Dark Arts. Our father especially excelled in curses and," she gestured towards the scrolls and fabrics, "counter-curses as you will see."

Not able to help himself, Bill rose from his seat and hugged the woman. "Thank you! This is brilliant!"

 

With a smile, Molly continued:

>To Charles, from Percy and family<

Surprised what his studious brother could offer, the dragon-tamer opened the tiny package. "Seeds?" He was no herbologist. This was as good as wasted on him.

Wiggling on her husband's lap to get more comfortable, Audrey explained, "We were on holiday in America this summer. And since Lucy and Little Molly love their flowers, we visited a muggle botanical garden. There was this whole patch of newly cultivated dragon-egg-plants. They had just been planted because they were 'pretty'. Percy recognised them from one of your books and stories and managed to talk the gardener into selling him a few of the fruits. We extracted the seeds and voilà. Harry put us in contact with Neville Longbottom and he promised to help should you need him, but suggested, that your own herbologists might know better how to grow them."

"But Dragon-Egg-Plants are extinct!"

One of the main reasons for the dragon population to dwindle over the last few decades was the lack of nutrition found only in this plant. Dragon tamers and their medical companions had come up with artificial supplements, but still, two out of three eggs lain were sterile. With this, however, …

"This is amazing, Percy, Audrey, thank you so much!"

Enveloping his brother and his wife in a bone-crushing hug, Charlie then carefully put the seeds away. He had to find a herbology master if they wanted to have a chance to re-introduce this plant into their eco-system. But if an American muggle could do it, so could they!

 

>To Percy and family, from Lucius Malfoy and the Weasley family<

Surprised, Percy looked up, but when Harry resized the massive chest Lucius had gathered, the studious Weasley dug into it head first. There were children's books, tomes on the development of pure-blood fashion, Percy immediately took that one out and offered it to Audrey. In her spare time, his wife enjoyed designing clothes. She could not sew to save her life, but all of her drawings appeared life-like, and last year she had even managed to sell half a dozen of them to a designer in Paris, Fleur had known through her family.

Percy froze when he reached the bottom of the chest. There, a long row of rules and regulations lay assorted. A few of them even predated Salem! With an open mouth - not his most attractive look - he gazed at Lucius wide-eyes, who merely tilted his head and offered, "You are welcome."

It was clear to everyone that Percy would be lost to them, for the rest of the day.

 

>To George and Angelina, from Ginny and family<

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the note at the beginning to give you an outlook for the next chapter because there is something I wanted to tell you all.
> 
> There will be but one more chapter to be posted for the immediate future. Not because I intend to abandon this story. The opposite is true!   
> Since 2013 I have attended NaNoWriMo every year. That's actually how Sententia started as well. Since I was determined to pick up a new hobby this year (painting/drawing/etc.) my writing somehow took the back-seat. But this November I want to give my everything once again. 50.000 words for a story of my choosing, and for the first time I will have started a fanfic during NaNoWriMo and hopefully be able to end it the same way. 
> 
> The bad news for you: I won't be able to post until about the middle of December. Because I tend to prepare myself diligently. Then I type - all day, every day - apart from going to work, care for my son, spend time with my husband etc. etc. etc. So I guess you can understand that I won't be able to make additional time for editing with an ambitious project as writing 50.000+ words. I hope that all of you can be patient and I promise to do my very best to make this story one worth reading until the very last sentence. It won't be J.K. Rowling, but I hope it will still be good.  
> All of you: have a great Halloween and All Hallows Eve or whatever you celebrate. Enjoy your November and wish me a lot of inspiration, so I can win.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting but most importantly for sharing my joy in a piece of fanfic I really have fun working on.  
> Love  
> Anchanee


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they arrived at Grimmauld Place in the afternoon, Kreacher and Emerald entered the living-room without being called. Though the old house-elf hovered at the door, the little one skipped over, right into Harry's legs. Beaming at him, she lisped, "Emerald will serve you now, Harry-Master-Sir."  
> Completely taken aback by this coherent, yet slightly awkward phrase - up until now, the little elf had but offered two-word sentences - the young wizard nearly missed, her turning around with a confused look. "Serve what … serve what?" She pondered, still clutching her master's trousers. Yet before Kreacher could offer a suggestion, her face lit up, and she beamed at Harry.  
> "Tea!" she exclaimed excitedly and then tried again, "Emerald will serve you tea now, Master-Harry-Sir." Then, with high concentration, she snapped her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last Chapter for a while now. But, don't despair. NaNoWriMo is going really well. For once, all of my characters do behave.  
> Well ... mostly ;).

>To George and Angelina, from Ginny and family<

"By Merlin's balls, Ginny!" Stunned, George looked from the envelope Molly had handed over, towards his little sister, who merely smiled at him.

"Once my latest niece or nephew are born, you won't have enough time to care for your family and the shop and eat and sleep in sufficient amounts. At least that's what I am told," the young redhead winked at her family. "So, we thought one last holiday would do you some good."

"But India?" The twin handed over the flute and the elaborate travelling plans to his wife, who shrieked, "A month! Ginny! This must have cost you an arm and a leg."

Their family chuckled. "Actually, it was three-hundred-seventy-eight gallons in total."

"That's really cheap for a month-long holiday," her brother looked at her somewhat concerned. "Will we have to work for our living? Is this your comeback for the tricot?"

During her last weekend off, George had gotten hold of one of Ginny's sports-dress and had charmed it to change colours in the middle of her next match. A nifty spell he had been very proud off at the time and promptly used it on their last line of products, colour-changing sweets. It was a great hit with children one and above. Her team had won that match with flying colours, but during the victory-photo the shirt had changed into an appalling shade of pink, clashing horribly with her hair.

Laughing out loud, his little sister promised, "Oh, I will get you for that, do not doubt me, but no, this is not revenge. It is cheap because Harry went out of his way to contact a few acquaintances he made during his time in India. Several of them agreed to host you. The portkey will activate at 1 p.m. on the 31st of January and bring you back here on the 1st of March at 6 p.m. sharp. For the entire month of February, you will be given a chance to explore the land and the culture. Your first host will have a list of temples of minor and major gods and goddesses in India, special emphasis on all the trickster gods." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, then squeaked when George and Angelina pounced on her, wrestling her to the floor.

Unceremoniously, Harry was pulled into the hug as well, while Andromeda explained the 'memory depiction' spell to the other Weasleys. By now she had a sizable collection of 'Harry on the Floor' pictures she was quite proud of.

 

>To Ron, from Fred and George<

"No!" Ron whispered, his fingers trembling when he recognised the deed for Weasleys Wizard Wheeze. Fred's name had been crossed out with golden ink, 'Ronald Weasley' replacing it.

"Yes," George contradicted, kneeling before his baby-brother.

"We agreed that …" the younger sibling began, but George cut him off, " **You** agreed, Ron, and I was too caught up in my grief to realise that it did not matter. What you thought you deserved … you were wrong then, and you are even more wrong now. You are a part of Weasleys Wizarding Wheeze just as much as Fred was. So you deserve your fair share of the shop."

"I'll never be as good as him …"

"You don't have to be to deserve this, little brother. I don't need you to be Fred, Ron, just be yourself." Hugging Ron tightly, George let him ride out the waves of anguish, not bothered by his shirt getting wet. When Ron finally pulled back, sniffing embarrassed, the twin grinned, "Besides, it's a Christmas present. So, you can't **not** accept it. That would be bad form."

With a wet chuckle, Ron straightened the parchment, thank Merlin for anti-crease spells, before he managed to reply, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," George relaxed back into his armchair, pulling Angelina back on his lap, while she still seemed absorbed in their travelling plans, nodding at Harry with a smile of gratitude.

Harry merely raised his cup, replying in equal.

 

>For Ginny and Justin, from Charlie and family<

Black dragon-leather unfolded from the oversized package, Molly placed on her daughter's lap. Trousers, a vest and bracers and a helm spilt from the box. Amazed, Ginny shook out the gear. "Wow, that's incredibly strong."

"Better than the stuff the Quidditch league can buy. One of our oldest dragons lay himself to rest this fall. He was more than five hundred years old and I – being the one who cared for him nearly exclusively for the last two years – was given my fair share of his hide. The second pair of trousers is from a younger female who suffered from an infection we could do nothing about.

Surprised, Justin noticed, "These are cut for males."

"Well, future brother-in-law," Charlie grinned, "Every member of our family should possess at least one dragon-leather outfit. Believe me, the ladies will swoon at the mere sight of you."

All three laughed, when Ginny cast a stinging hex at her brother, refolding the clothes with the dark promise, "We will talk about this later!"

It seemed that the youngest Weasley sibling had developed a possessive streak a mile wide. From the grin they all shared, the entire family approved.

 

>For Lucius, from the Weasley-Grangers and family<

Surprised, the former Lord looked up from the corner of the living-room, where he and Narcissa had claimed a love-seat. "You didn't …" he started, clearly embarrassed to be included.

Harry, however, soothed him, "We wanted to." There had been some debate, to be honest, but after Lucius had offered to Hermione to copy books from his library for the 'studious' redhead, they had agreed that this was the right thing to do. The past was in the past. It was time for a new beginning.

So, the platinum-haired wizard accepted the slightly worn leather bag, Hermione offered. Carefully, he brushed over the snake-depiction that decorated a corner of the front, tilting his head in gratitude. "This is quite beautiful craftsmanship. Thank you very much."

It was not something he would have considered using in the past. But with a lot of their possessions ruined or sold off during the last months of the war, this bag would do to hold his files, when he got another chance to offer his expertise to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Chuckling, the bushy-haired witch revealed, "It has a small extension and featherlight charm and will only open for you. The real present, however, is inside."

Curious, the pureblood opened the bag and pulled out a sleek metal device. His eyes went impossible wide when he recognised the gadget. Reverently, he opened it and pressed the power button. The usually so eloquent man seemed to struggle for something to say as the laptop booted. "Mrs Granger … Mrs and Mrs' Weasley, I … thank you." He had already gotten the chance to familiarise himself with this technology. After Hermione had offered a crash course in hard- and software, Lucius had shown a surprising aptitude for electronic data processing.

Having a computer for himself would increase the knowledge database he could work with exponentially, since, in a few weeks of downtime, Hermione had taught him a digitalising charm of her own making and he had gone to town on every law book he could get his hands on; both from within the Malfoy Library and at the Ministry. Volumes, he now found already stored on the laptop for his convenience. It still amazed him, that libraries full of books could be made available on such a small piece of technology. Lovingly, he brushed his fingertips over the keys as Arthur claimed a stool beside him, admiring the muggle technology. "Justin promised to set up an internetwork at your home, so your laptop and Hermione's can communicate."

Aware of the need for internet access, Lucius did not bother to correct the other pureblood, merely started the little 'snake'-game that came with every computer and offered it to Arthur. The man took it with the greatest care, tapping away on the arrow-keys immediately. He had discovered the joys of this sort of games when Hermione had brought her first laptop to the burrow.

As soon as the laptop was safe out of his hands, Lucius rose and offered his hand in gratitude. "Thank you Mr Flint-Fletchley and you Hermione."

Surprising no one but the platinum-blond wizard, Justin simply accepted the handshake, but Hermione brushed away the gesture and went in for a hug. "You are most welcome, Lucius. I know you will put it to good use."

Reclaiming his seat, the former Lord watched Arthur with hawk's eyes, but let the other tap away happily on the keyboard to expand his digital snake.

 

>For Andromeda and Narcissa, from Molly and family<

"I hope you will forgive us, but we decided on identical gifts for the both of you," Molly explained, somewhat embarrassed as if this was some personal failing when handing over the presents.

Trading a wide-eyed look with her sister, Narcissa seemed as lost for words as her husband for being given something in the first place. Andromeda, however, having been included in the planning, tilted her head, when receiving her package. "Not at all, Molly, thank you very much."

There were two gifts each. Opening the smaller one, both women discovered a wrist-watch. Andromeda's had a soft leather-band in black, while Narcissa's was a blazing white.

"It is beautiful!" The older sister exclaimed with a bright smile, fastening it around her wrist with Charlie's help, who sat closest.

"It's charmed," Artur explained. "You put your hand on the clock-face and say _Proles._ The hands will show you where your children are and if they are up to no good."

Doing as they were told, the Black-sisters activated the spell that turned their watches into an imitation of the Weasley clock. Trading a quick glance, they discovered wordlessly, that both watches had been equipped with not one but two hands each. Tilting her head, Narcissa spoke quietly, "This gift is very much appreciated." 'Especially the 'Mortal Danger' section she hoped the boys' hands would stay away from.' "Thank you, Molly, … Arthur."

Impatient, the plump witch prompted, "Now open the other one. I want to see if they fit!"

Confused, Narcissa reached for the bigger, softer package and could hear her sister chuckle, when Andromeda ripped her own open. The moment she mirrored the gesture, a gorgeous off-white cashmere-jumper fell into her hands.

"I had to guess your size, Narcissa," Molly admitted. "Harry managed to nick one of your vests, but I am not exactly sure if it will be a good fit."

With the help of her husband, Narcissa pulled the knitted garment over her head, admiring the way it accentuated her still slightly too small waist. An emerald snake wound around a stitched letter 'N'. Gazing at her sister, whose jumper was midnight blue, the witch admired the silver-green serpent that moulded itself to a white letter 'A'.

As if on command, all Weasley-children, including Harry, put on the new sweaters Molly had made for them. Still, none of them were as fine or sophisticated in their fitting as Narcissa's and Andromeda's.

"They are gorgeous," Andromeda beamed, hugging the Weasley matriarch. "Thank you, Molly!"

And, as if it was the most natural thing to do, the redheaded witch turned around and pulled Narcissa close as well. Not used to such tactile affection, the white-haired witch stiffed for a moment, before she returned the gesture tentatively. "Thank you," she whispered, and Molly replied equally quiet, "You are welcome. Don't worry, whatever this next year might bring, you are not alone anymore."

At that, Narcissa briefly clutched Molly's jumper, before letting her go, recalling her upbringing to regain her composure.

When she sank back on the loveseat, her husband brushed his fingertips over the sleeves, "This feels quite precious."

"Invaluable, in fact," Narcissa replied, watching the family that seemed to be becoming an extension of her own, with a hidden smile.

 

>To Harry, from the family<

"No!" The young wizard protested, "I asked you not to buy me anything. You promised! This, right here, is all I ever wanted."

Throwing a sweet's wrapper at his brother in everything but blood, Ron grinned, "This is actually a present **from** us, **for** us. Now open the damn thing mate!"

A jacket, trousers and boots, all tingling with magic. Surprised, Harry glanced at Charlie, who merely shrugged, "It was a big dragon after all."

"Go on," Ginny encouraged, "Try them on!"

"Right now?"

"Nothing we have not seen before," his Ex grinned. When Harry pointedly looked at her fiancé, the youngest Weasley-sibling chuckled and covered Justin's eyes. "Don't worry. I'll protect your innocence, dear."

"From what?" The Hufflepuff wanted to know.

"Harry changing in the middle of Ron's living-room."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Her partner insisted, pulling her into his lap, effectively keeping her from shielding him by trapping her arms. Then he looked encouragingly at Harry. "Go on, Potter. I've heard fantastic things about you in the locker room."

"Excuse me?"

Laughing out loud, Justin merely wiggled his eyebrows.

"Go on, mate!"

At the continuous encouragement of his family, the raven-haired sighed and finally shimmied out of his shoes and trousers, trading them for the dragon-hide garments. Once he closed the zipper of the jacket, he felt protective magic settle around him like a hug. Caressing the fabric, admiring his reflection, Harry took half a step back, when Hermione drew her wand on him. Instantly raising his hands, he looked at her questioningly.

"Trust me," the young witch smiled, prompting her best friend to straighten again.

With a tilt of his head, he assured her, "With everything I hold dear."

Then he watched her firing a couple of jinxes and hexes at him, all of whom glided past him, leaving only a gentle tingling behind. Turning, twisting and stretching, Harry grinned decisively. "It's much more comfortable than my usual armour. I love it!"

Taking off the jacket, he let himself fall onto the couch next to Ron, stretching his legs over the armrest, to admire his new boots. The rest of the family exchanged high-fives, content with how well their present (to themselves, because Harry's safety had been a major concern after his latest accident in the line of duty) was received. Ginny and Hermione definitely showed smug little smiles. It had taken them quite some time and effort, to convince the others of a simple design, that would be to Harry's liking. Especially George and Charlie had proposed some extraordinary … decorations.

Nobody but Narcissa noticed that Draco put a lot of effort into crossing his legs in a seemingly casual movement, adjusting himself in his pants while watching the other wizard testing out his black-leather outfit.

 

>To Mum and …<

"Oh, Arthur, look," Molly exclaimed excited, lifting the last and by far biggest present from under the tree. "This one is for us!"

Instantly handing back the laptop, Arthur joined his wife on the living room floor. Though he looked excited, he chided his children, "We all agreed that you lot would not spend any money on us."

Trading a triumphant grin with his siblings, Ron merely replied. "We didn't; not a single gallon."

Confused, Artur ripped open the paper and fell on his backside, while Molly pressed her hand to her mouth, muffling a sob. Slowly spreading out the stitched together arrangement of knitwear, Arthur pulled his wife into his arms.

"Look," she cried, "This is Ginny's first jumper."

"And Fred's last," George pointed out.

"Your jumper was the first item anybody gave me that actually fit," Harry recalled, gesturing at the red piece of wool, with the Gryffindor Lion.

"Your jumper kept me warm, even when we were on the road for half a year," Ron revealed, indicating a slightly worn-down, maroon patch.

"It was a piece of home in a hostile world," Hermione remembered, snuggling deeper into her husband's embrace. "A remembrance of why we did it."

"They were important," Percy spoke up quietly. "Even when things were hard, and we did not see eye to eye because one of us was …"

"… a bastard?" George offered with a faux sweet smile.

"George!" Molly admonished. "It's Christmas, and that's all in the past."

Throwing a cookie at his brother, something the twin snatched out of the air easily, Percy shrugged, "But true nevertheless. Anyway, my point is, no matter how bad things were, when I received your jumper on Christmas morning, I knew everything would be okay eventually. I was not ready to apologise until …," breathing wetly, Percy took a calming breath. "You sent me this one in 1997, and I kept it with me every day, though I only allowed myself to wear it the following year."

"So, while we might moan to receive yet **another** jumper," Bill explained.

"And not really treat them with the care they deserve," Charlie continued.

"Because we all know how much times goes into knitting jumpers for seven children plus extended family," Percy admitted sheepishly.

"We really do appreciate them," George insisted. "Both as a present and as a memory."

"So, we thought we should show you," Ron shrugged as if sewing up a vast patchwork quilt out of two dozen jumpers was nothing.

"You did not want us to buy you anything. But we knew you would like this gift." Ginny concluded, laughing when her parents started their round of bone-crushing hugs and tear-stained kisses with her.

 

The celebration winded down after that. Everybody got lost in admiration of their own, extraordinary presents. Well, everybody but one. However, sitting in the middle of this amazing family, feeling accepted and seeing his parents truly at ease for the first time he could remember, was enough of a Christmas present for him. At least that was what Draco wanted to make himself believe. He was no longer the spoiled brat he had been when meeting these people for the first time. Seeing others happy could be enough.

\--O-O--

When they arrived at Grimmauld Place in the afternoon, Kreacher and Emerald entered the living-room without being called. Though the old house-elf hovered at the door, the little one skipped over, right into Harry's legs. Beaming at him, she lisped, "Emerald will serve you now, Harry-Master-Sir."

Completely taken aback by this coherent, yet slightly awkward phrase - up until now, the little elf had but offered two-word sentences - the young wizard nearly missed, her turning around with a confused look. "Serve what … serve what?" She pondered, still clutching her master's trousers. Yet before Kreacher could offer a suggestion, her face lit up, and she beamed at Harry.

"Tea!" she exclaimed excitedly and then tried again, "Emerald will serve you tea now, Master-Harry-Sir." Then, with high concentration, she snapped her fingers.

For a moment, nothing happened, then a banging noise came from the door, and the rattling of china could be heard. Kreacher hastened to open it and in danced their tea-pot, an empty cup, milk and sugar. Emerald even managed to levitate everything to the couch-table, before losing the spell. With a slight clattering, everything sat down.

Smiling brilliantly at Harry, she pointed, "Tea!"

Laughing out loud, the young wizard sank to his knees and hugged her. Her first service and nothing had been broken. "That was brilliant, Emerald, absolutely brilliant!"

Bouncing up and down, the little elf enjoyed the praise before returning to Kreacher. The other elf, however, instantly started to correct her in a stern tone, "Tea is always served on a tray, and there are supposed to be as many cups as there are wizards or witches." With a snap of his fingers, everything was how it was supposed to be.

Emerald, however, did not let this criticism bother her. "Sir-Master-Harry said 'brilliant'. Now we play!"

Harry and Draco traded a helpless shrug before they let themselves fall onto the sofa. The blond ordered with closed eyes, "Two cubes of sugar and a splash of milk, please," when Harry picked up the pot.

"Milk in camomile tea. Are you sure?" He teased.

That brought Draco out of his post-Christmas-fatigue, "Camomile tea, at three p.m.?"

Shrugging, Harry offered a cup with but one sugar. "I think she likes this one best because there are flowers on the tin."

"This will put me to sleep in thirty minutes tops," the blond complained, when accepting the cup, savouring the first sip.

"Still, this is perfectly steeped. Emerald has improved greatly since her first cup."

"That she has," Draco agreed, sinking back against the couch.

A while later, they were pulled out of a light doze when a twelve-night cake and a few mince pies - leftovers from the feast - as well as a pot of freshly brewed English Breakfast Tea, appeared on the table. Trading a smile, both young wizards called out in one voice, "Thank you, Kreacher." Despite the house-elf remaining stubbornly out of sight.

Once the food was gone, Harry picked up the tray with the dishes and nudged Draco. "Come on, I have one last Christmas present to share with you."

After a brief dash into the kitchen, where the raven-haired spotted Emerald under the table, creating a somewhat unstable tower with their good silver, he merely traded a nod with Kreacher, before climbing the stairs up to the third floor. Entering Snape's room, he barely bothered with the sheet the assistant on night-duty had filled out. There never were any changes anyway.

Draco had valiantly fought down his … irritation, about the idea of witnessing yet another gift-exchange. Not that it would be an exchange. This time Harry was willing to offer something to a wizard who could not even appreciate it. Not that Draco did not appreciate everything the raven-haired had done today … and these last months for his family. Harry Potter had shown himself benevolent beyond his wildest expectations. He could be content with that.

When he looked at his host, he just caught him brushing a strand of dark hair out of his former professor's face. Draco wanted to be surprised but watching Harry with Snape occasionally … accidentally … listening in on their conversations, well monologues, for the most part, the blond had already figured out that Harry cared a great deal about the former Death Eater. The young wizard treated all of his friends with the same, elaborate care. Even Draco had been on the receiving end of these tender ministrations and would not lie to himself, by pretending that he did not enjoy them. He was, however, surprised when the raven-haired reached under their patient and lifted him out of bed with ease.

That, more than anything, drove the message home, of how fragile and worn down his godfather had become. A part of the Slytherin wanted to rave and rant about the unfairness of it all. Another part wanted to bury himself in the man's journals once more, despite being aware that knowledge alone was not worth anything if you could not do something with it. The rational part of Draco, however, wrestled back control so he could inquire in an even tone, "What are you doing?"

Surprised by the expecting smile, Draco followed Harry's prompting of standing by his side, before the young wizard requested, "Kreacher, we are ready."

Like it had always been in the Great Hall, things just happened. The house elf had to be in a room with a nearly identical setup, because all of a sudden, the furniture was replaced. But not with new, shiny things. The four-poster-bed had apparently been in use before, as had the desk in the corner. The chair, in front of it, looked well loved, but what made Draco understand, where these things had come from, was the armchair that had replaced the one beside the bed. It was black, and the leather was buttery-soft, and the blond would have recognised it anywhere since he had used it countless times in the past. These were …

"Severus' things! This is his furniture from Hogwarts! How on earth …?"

Grinning, Harry put their patient back into bed … **his** bed, and replied, "Hogwarts gave me access to his rooms, the day after Halloween. Afterwards, when I asked Minerva about borrowing the bed, she made it clear that she considered me Snape's guardian, for now. Hence it would be my decision as to what happens to his things. So, I decided …," looking around, flickering his wand over the walls to change the light green to a warm beige, making the room more inviting, the Gryffindor shrugged. "I decided that I wanted him to be comfortable … familiar with his surroundings. The mattress is still one specially made for coma patients. But the bed and the chair, the rugs and the curtains … I thought he might prefer them this way. Those were his choices for his rooms at Hogwarts after all."

Caressing the back of the armchair, Draco's fingers dipped into all the crooks and crannies he had known since he was a small child. He swallowed through his constricting throat. This was Christmas, a time for gift-giving and joy when seeing that people got what they deserved. And Severus deserved this! Without the shadow of a doubt even if he could not really enjoy it.

Harry then started the physical exercises they had neglected yesterday - because no matter how devoted Emilia was to her patients, she had informed Harry beforehand that she would not be around on Christmas Eve. She had even suggested a replacement for the night who had taken the job gladly, considering the money the young Lord Potter-Black had offered. Draco made a conscious effort not to be too soft or cautious when helping with the exercises since his godfather would hate that. The blond also reminded himself, that he was not jealous of an unconscious man, because he had received such a thoughtful gift when he had gotten nothing. He was not _that_ petty.

Once they were finished, Harry smiled content, before he nudged his companion, "Come one. One last thing and then I'll leave you to your own devices. You've surely had enough excitement for the last two days. And you want to pick up Inari sometime tomorrow, so we shouldn't let it get too late."

\--O-O--

In the corridor, the Master of the house called upon his elf and then smiled at him in gratitude, "The room is perfect, Kreacher, thank you very much."

Apparently embarrassed by the compliment, the creature only nodded in understanding.

Then, they hovered, nobody saying a word. After a minute, Harry spoke up softly, "I won't make it an order. We have talked about this. It is your decision. You know Draco. But if you feel that you do not want to trust him, we will arrange for something else. There is enough room in the basement."

Feeling distinctively unsettled by the idea of being banished to the cellar, Draco spoke up, "I don't think …"

Yet before he could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by Kreacher who mumbled, "No air in the basement. Master Draco would suffocate."

"I would care for some ventilation, Kreacher. We could make it work." Harry assured him, but the house-elf shook his head decisively, taking Draco's and Harry's hand, guiding them down the corridor. Before the blond got the chance to ask what this was all about, the elf looked them in the eyes and revealed in a firm tone, "Master Regulus' lab is in the attic of No. 12 Grimmauld Place."

And all of a sudden, a door was there. It had always been there, Draco realised. He had seen it, from the corner of his eyes, because the dark, highly polished wood seemed so very familiar. But until now, a Fidelius Charm, entrusted to a house elf, had kept it concealed. Then the reality of what Kreacher had just said slammed into him. "A lab … a potions lab?" Draco asked hopefully, turning towards Harry.

"If it is not a potions lab, then I have acquired a lot of equipment needlessly to clutter up the place." With a grin, the raven-haired nudged Draco towards the door. "Go on. This will be yours after all."

Cautiously, Draco opened the door and climbed the creaking stairs. Though everything was dust-free, he felt like it had been decades, since the last human soul had entered these rooms. Once he had reached the top, Draco caught in his tracks. Oh, this was a lab, but Merlin!

The main room spanned the entire roof, from the front of the house to the back. Though the sides were shelved off, there was more than enough space to move comfortably. Above the main entrance, was a charmed wall that would let in the morning light, illuminating a desk with a rickety chair in front of it. If Draco was not mistaken, the chair matched the set they used in the dining room. At the back, facing the garden, was a brewing station with tabletops of wood on one, and granite on the other side. The outlet of the chimney was directly above it, and the blond could spot faint runes on the shaft that would syphon all harsh vapours and neutralise them before they were introduced to the London airspace.

He admired the ingredients in the shelves, Harry had acquired, sorted alphabetically rather than by use. Well, he would have to resort them anyway. Both to familiarise himself with what was available and to categorise them by plant, animal, elemental and other origins; then by volatility; just like Severus had taught him. Looking forward to this task, he turned around to inspect the desk next, leaving the brewing station for last. The place where you could actually make the potions was the best part of every lab, in Draco's opinion. He knew that a place to store and prepare the ingredients was as important at least, as was a spot where you could make notes. But the fireplace and the cauldrons … this was where the magic happened, and the blond knew that he would not be able to turn away from it, once he allowed himself to get close.

>For Draco, from Molly and family<

The present was soft, and immediately, Draco knew what it contained.

Kindly, Harry spoke up at his back. "Molly did not want you to feel obligated to wear something, not to your liking. It is not as fine as your mother's, but she tried to make one you would enjoy."

Opening the present, a silver-grey jumper, with an embroidered 'D' fell into the Slytherin's hands. Though he could not be sure, Draco thought it the same colour as his eyes. "She made this for me?"

"Of course, she did! You are part of the family now."

Instantly shedding his pullover, the blond put on the jumper and turned towards Harry. "How do I …," then he froze.

"Dashing," Harry offered with a small smile. "It really matches the colour of your eyes," the raven-haired commented, though he was well aware that all thoughts of his appearance had fled from Draco's mind, as he had gotten sight of him. Or more specifically, what he held.

Taking an aborted step forward, the blond wizard whispered hoarsely, "That's my wand."

"Correction," the Auror offered, still twirling the brown stick of wood with the dark handle between his fingers. "This is **my** wand since I grabbed it from you at the Manor. You used it to curse objects and hurt people, even attempted murder. Your unicorn-core did not like that and shifted allegiance the moment I took it. Without this shift, I would not have been able to master the Elder Wand you won from Dumbledore. In the end, I was only able to defeat Tom, thanks to this.

"However, you have no longer ill intentions. But I guess you will have to prove, that you really want it back. Otherwise, I doubt it will work for …"

**"Accio wand!"**

The spell echoed through the attic, and even before the last syllable had left Draco's mouth, his hawthorn wand soared through the air. The moment it slapped into his hand, a faint white light surrounded him, reminding Harry of the first time, he had held his holly-wand at the age of eleven.

Draco's fingers were trembling, as he looked down at the wand he had missed like a limb for the last four years.

"Go on," Harry encouraged.

After taking a steadying breath, the blond wizard whispered, "Lumos."

A soft light illuminated the room, reflecting in the tears that streamed down Draco's cheeks.

Passing him by, Harry merely put a hand on his shoulder, before heading towards the stairs. He remembered all too well the feeling of having his own wand returned to him after he had thought it damaged beyond repair. When he was at the door, Draco called out, hoarsely, "Potter, I … thank you."

With a small smile, the raven-haired tilted his head, "You are welcome, and, Draco?"

Barely able to drag his eyes away from his glowing wand, the blond looked up, "Yes?"

"Merry Christmas."

Gazing back down, drinking in the sight of the beloved brown and black wood, the blond whispered, "Merry Christmas, indeed."

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you around Christmas :).


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius paled when his son stumbled into the dining-room, at his master's call, looking angry. Draco wore unusually old and torn clothes, and his arms and face were scratched. Only at Harry's exasperated remark to at least wash his hands, he sullenly cleaned himself up in the kitchen sink. However, despite having promised Lucius that he would call Potter out if the other wizard ever went too far, no further conversation happened between the two. Draco merely joined them at the dinner table, shovelling the peasant's dish into his mouth, before the Lord of the House could even take a bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you a Very, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.  
> Thank you all for your patience, and your kind words to encourage me through NaNoWriMo. I have managed to write about 55.000 words, ten new chapters are in the making and this story is far from over.  
> Thanks to my new betareader DarthKrande, who offers not only correction but inspiration as well, this is the best version of this story we can come up with. I hope you all will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed working on it.

"You have a lot of faith in him," a female voice stated dispassionately.

Leaning back in a chair taking comfort in studying the tapestry that held not only his godfather's name that now held his own as well, Harry closed his eyes and admitted quietly, "I need to."

Sceptically, Walburga looked down from the painting closest to the door. "Do you really believe that the last Malfoy descendant can help your Potion Master?"

With a tired sigh, Harry turned to look at her. "If not him, who else? Who could I trust with this secret? Who would put as much effort into helping Severus Snape as his own godson? Not because I tell him to, but because he wants to!" Once Sirius' name had been returned to his rightful place, Harry had acquired a new painting to offer Walburga access to this room. It might have been a little vindictive, but Harry felt that he had the right, after all the time and effort he and Narcissa had put into the family tree. Hermione had found him this one, called 'Dogs Playing Poker' sharing that it was somewhat famous … or more infamous, in the muggle world. Seeing it, Harry had instantly known that his godfather would have loved it, as one of the shaggy black dogs looked suspiciously like Sirius' animagus form, though with shorter fur.

Somehow, for him, this room had become Sirius'. It was the place where Harry felt closest to him, and the fixtures started to reflect that. Starting with the deep red carpet, to the light-golden drapes that gave the salon a lighter and friendlier finish, to the cosy furniture that would suit the Gryffindor common room. The 'indignity' of the painting might be the reason for Walburga Black edging to the front of the frame, trying her hardest to ignore the ridiculous canines at her back.

"Tell me something, Walburga," Harry now asked, curiosity finally getting the better of him. "Did you know about the lab your youngest had in the attic?"

With a soft smile; one the raven-haired hated her for since she never showed the same love when talking about her older son; the witch admitted, "Of course, I knew. This is my house after all. I was not aware of the location of Regulus' lab after he had guarded it with the help of the trice damned house-elf he had this unnatural fondness for. But I was aware that he was brewing in my house. He was not discreet enough when purchasing his ingredients."

"My house!" Harry snapped, despite being aware that it was completely useless to get worked up over a painting. With a sigh, he added, "And your son's devotion to this 'trice damned house-elf' won us the war."

Now it was Walburga's time to snap, though she did it quietly, disdain evident on her face. She had been a follower of Voldemort's beliefs. 'Toujours Pur' - purebloods only - per the Black family motto. Her convictions had gone so far, that she had pushed her own son Regulus Arcturus Black into the arms of the dark. Oblivious to the fact that doing the right thing, in the end, had killed him, she had never been forced to face the transformation of 'noble beliefs', into the delusions of grandeur of a madman. Aware that there was no convincing her, that a torn soul who had been split too often to stay sane, would have spelt all of their dooms, muggleborn and purebloods alike, Harry pushed off the chair. "I'm going to bed."

Obviously not finished with her interrogation, the former Black matriarch held him back one last time, "Why the wand? He is still a convicted Death Eater! A group you are fighting so valiantly against. This would reflect badly on the family if it came out."

Of course, it was all about appearances. Still, Walburga had asked, so Harry hesitated at the door, forcing himself to face the question he had avoided for quite some time now. Returning Draco's wand had been vital, but they both risked a lot with it. The blond was under house arrest still, and if one of Harry's less favourable colleagues got a clue, it would cause problems. Huge, 'losing your job for real'-level problems! On the other hand, Robarts was aware, so Harry might face less of a backlash. Best to remain cautious. Still, in the end, it had not been a decision at all; not for him, Auror or not, because, "It was the right thing to do."

\--O-O--

It was past midnight when Draco finally closed the door to the attic. He now had a good overview of the equipment, had sorted all available ingredients to his liking. All the while he had held on to his wand so tightly, his fingers were now aching. Rotating every little jar with magic might have taken more time than sorting them by hand, but it had been infinitely more satisfying. Once he was through, though, he had no reason to remain, so he hesitatingly left the lab, trudging down the stairs.

Having taken his wand back, especially from the hands of Harry Potter, had brought back memories. Memories of the day the 'Boy Who Lived' had taken it from him, and since there was no work to be done any longer, Draco had nothing to keep them at bay. He would have loved to brew but knew that he was not in the right state of mind to do so, and Severus had taught him too well to waste ingredients.

You-Know-Who was hovering at the edge of Draco's awareness, so he was hesitant to go to sleep. During his evening routine, the blond eyed his bed wearily. Nightmares were unavoidable at this point. He considered leaving for the library when his eyes fell on the overnight bag that stood empty beside the door. Closing his eyes in defeat, Draco left the room.

\--O-O--

The knock on the bedroom door was so quiet, that Harry considered it a figment of imagination for a heartbeat, despite having waited for it. But since the only person around would most likely not make himself known a second time, the raven-haired shuffled out of bed. Draco looked tired and unsure, ready to retreat at a moment's notice. So, the young wizard merely nudged the door open all the way and returned to his bed. The blond hesitated for a moment, before following. He slipped between the sheets, unsure of how to act in a 'normal' bed, where the two wizards were not forced into close proximity. After a few minutes, Draco turned, watching the light of the waning moon that fell through the open curtains. Maybe he should not have come. After all, he was a grown man, and the Dark Lord was gone. Harry had not returned to sleep either, his breaths too even and controlled for him to be asleep.

"The day you took my wand … after you've escaped," Draco tried to explain in the barest whisper, "… he came … You-Know-Who came and he …"

"He was a bastard," Harry interrupted this stammering in a quiet, yet decisive tone. "Tom Marvolo Riddle was an insane, sadistic bastard who enjoyed torturing people."

"He …"

"It's okay, Draco," the raven-haired whispered, inching closer, so he could hug the blond to his chest. "I understand. It's over now. Go to sleep."

And in the arms of the 'Saviour of the Wizarding World', Draco finally dared to close his eyes.

\--O-O--

Fox-proofing the garden was both easier and a lot harder than anticipated. When Charlie apparated into the pavilion - naturally, all Weasleys were included in Harry's wards - the raven-haired was in the process of deciphering a parchment Neville and Luna had given him with their house-warming gift. After planting his garden, Luna had painted a map of the locations of the different plants. It was beautiful and colourful and worthy to be put up on a wall. Right now, however, it was not the tiniest bit helpful.

"I am not sure what that is," Draco stated drily, "but it is certainly not basil."

"But Luna said so!" Harry defended himself. "I remember her talking about this plant specifically!"

"Maybe you should try standing on your head," a dreamy voice suggested from behind. "Things will be clearer then."

"Luna, hey, Merry Christmas," Harry turned around, hugging his friend, not bothered by her strange advice.

"Merry Christmas, Harry. Don't you like your garden any longer?"

"I love my garden!" The young wizard assured, before hugging Neville with a quick 'Happy Christmas'. "It's just that we are expecting a new house-guest and are concerned for him … or rather her, to be poisoned by some of these plants." Gesturing at the second-oldest Weasley-brother, he explained, "I found a half-starved fox during our Yule hunt, and Draco has taken a liking to her … or more, she to him, so she's moving in with us. Charlie helps us to make sure our house is fox-proved."

"That's great!" Luna beamed brightly. "Draco needs more friends to keep the Wacklspurts away." Then she wandered off, to where Charlie was talking to the blond.

"Don't you want another pet around?" Neville gazed at his friend, before studying the map over his shoulder.

"No … I mean yes!" Harry exclaimed, shaking his head. "I have no problem with Inari. She's a sweet thing. I'm just worried that something in the garden might be bad for her. Basil certainly is not harmful to foxes," he pointed at the corresponding field on the map. "But Draco just said that's not basil."

Gazing at his friend and partner in the Auror department, the wizard he trusted with his life in any situation, Neville reached out and turned the map upside down, or upside up more accurately.

"Oh," Harry mumbled sheepishly. "So that's foxglove over there."

Making a valiant effort not to laugh, Neville nodded. "Yes, Harry, that's foxglove, and the herbal patch with the basil and dill and parsley is right beside the kitchen door. A revolutionary concept, don't you think?"

"Yea, … ahm, … thanks."

Handing the map to Draco, Harry greeted Charlie before returning to his friends. Messing up his hair, he forced an embarrassed smile before asking, "So, what can I do for you?"

Chuckling, Neville shrugged. "We just wanted to peek in, because Luna insisted that we bring your Christmas present. It makes a lot more sense now than it did yesterday, I have to admit."

"But we said no presents!" Harry protested, "Just brunch tomorrow with you guys, Xenophilius and Augusta!"

"Brunch is still on, though grandmother is not too sure about the concept. Anyway, we left the gift on the kitchen table. Luna was right. You'll like it."

Following Neville into the kitchen, Harry laughed out loud. "You know, after knowing her for a decade, I really should not be surprised by her divinatory foresight any longer. But somehow, she still manages to amaze me."

"I know exactly what you mean," his friend chuckled.

In the middle of the kitchen table, stood an artificial fox-hole, made of wicker, decorated with colourful ribbons.

"It's supposed to be buried three quarters into the earth, and then covered with earth and grass and such."

"Then why are there decorations on top?"

Grinning, Neville put his arm around Harry's shoulder and admitted, "I do not have the slightest clue, my friend."

"They are pretty, and it's supposed to be a present," Luna explained, sliding into her fiancé's arms when Neville let go of his partner. "Even if the intended recipient will most likely just chew on them."

"Thank you, Luna … and Neville. This is perfect." Harry smiled, hugging both of his friends. Scratching his head, he then admitted. "Actually, I too might have something for you."

Summoning a box, he hesitantly handed it over. "I did not have time to wrap it. I found it in my parents' vault and thought you might like it."

At Neville's encouraging nod, Luna opened the present, and her eyes began to shine. On dark blue velvet lay a necklace of white silver, adorned with countless, little stars that dangled from the chain-links. It would be far too excessive for the likes of Andromeda, Narcissa or Molly. For Luna, however, the shimmering jewellery was perfect and would suit her festive attires perfectly.

For Neville, the box contained a leather cuff. It was made of white leather and was adorned with dark engravings of the moon through its circle. Though it seemed a little worn on the edges, it was still beautiful.

"The goblins checked it for me and said, that the picture of the moon correlates with its current phase, making it shine a little. I thought you might like it to … you know … keep track, because watering and weeding sometimes has to be done following the moon-phase."

Putting on their gifts, Neville and Luna proclaimed, "We love it! Thank you very much. But now let's go outside and set up a home for your little fox."

Neville and Harry were debating on how to dig into the earth with minimal consequences for both the roots that seemed to have claimed every corner of the garden and themselves since the ground was pretty much frozen solid. Wanting to do as little harm as possible, the raven-haired contemplated forgoing Luna's cave for now and create one above the ground until spring.

A helpless outburst from Draco pulled him out of his musings. The blond's voice echoed through the garden. "For Merlin's sake, if it's dangerous for Inari it has to go!"

Approaching Draco, Luna and Charlie, Harry heard the witch's protests, "But you need this plant. It helps with the gnomes and fairies! Without it, they won't return come spring."

"Harry's garden does not even have gnomes!" Draco shouted, apparently at the end of his patience.

Luna had that effect on people who had yet to learn to listen to what she meant instead of what she was saying. Charlie seemed confused as well but took a step to come between the two fair-haired opponents. Harry put a calming hand on Draco's arm, who then took a deep breath. Neville, however, was able to understand. Hugging his beloved from behind, he kissed the back of her head, and suggested, "What about strawberries instead of roses? We can get some climbing ones, and they will look gorgeous with their tiny white pedals when they bloom."

Tilting her head to the side, Luna seemed to ponder that suggestion before smiling again. "That will certainly work," before wandering off, climbing the tree Foxglove had chosen as his home. Maybe to have a conversation with Harry's owl?

Draco looked after her, utterly confused. "What just happened?"

Chuckling, Neville gestured towards a small plant at the side, "Your Lupines introduce a high amount of nitrogen into the soil. To benefit from this effect, you need plants that thrive in nitrogen-enriched earth. Roses do. But if Charlie is concerned about your kit hurting itself, we can find an alternative. Strawberries are great, and I think your little fox will like them."

"Of course," the dragon-tamer confirmed. "Strawberries are no problem."

"Then why did she talk about fairies and gnomes instead of saying that it's about the composition of the earth?" Draco exploded.

Grinning, Neville and Harry traded a glance, before answering in one voice, "Because it's Luna!"

\--O-O--

Aware of how stressful family gatherings were for the Malfoys, Harry had agreed with them taking a day off after Christmas. So they only returned to Grimmauld Place after tea on the 26th, a period to discuss their plans for New Year's Eve. As it had somehow become tradition, Harry would host a party for his friends. Narcissa seemed reluctant to ask, in the beginning, but after a little encouragement shared her thoughts on inviting Molly and Arthur Weasley to the Manor, 'maybe' her sister would also be present.

With a small smile, Harry suggested, "Why don't you extend your invitations and let them decide?"

Realising that none of these 'light' families would snub her, as her fellow purebloods would have in the past if they had a more prestigious invitation, Narcissa acquiesced. "That seems to be the polite way to go about it." Since they ate at Grimmauld Place regularly, she would even have resources for a decent meal. Nothing as sophisticated as she had served in the past, but certainly enough for a few guests. Relieved, she offered, "Do you need a hand with dinner preparations?"

Stirring the Chilli one last time, Harry shook his head. "No, but you can help Lucius set the table, please. Oh, and be so kind to ask Kreacher for some red wine. Something a little on the sweet side would go splendidly with this. At least for you." He winked.

Counting out the plates, the witch inquired curiously, "But not for you?"

"No, I prefer beer with Chilli."

"What is 'Chilli'?"

Surprised, Harry shook his head, "You have never had Chilli? Prepare to be amazed! After the last few days of English Cuisine, I was craving something spicy. But don't worry, I brought yoghurt. In case it's too hot for you."

Literally understanding only half of what Harry was saying, the Lady merely tilted her head, to not betray her obliviousness. "That is very much appreciated."

Lucius paled when his son stumbled into the dining-room, at his master's call, looking angry. Draco wore unusually old and torn clothes, and his arms and face were scratched. Only at Harry's exasperated remark to at least wash his hands, he sullenly cleaned himself up in the kitchen sink. However, despite having promised Lucius that he would call Potter out if the other wizard ever went too far, no further conversation happened between the two. Draco merely joined them at the dinner table, shovelling the peasant's dish into his mouth, before the Lord of the House could even take a bite.

The platinum-haired pureblood could not help but feel a tiny bit proud of his son, for having the guts to so openly ignoring the wizard who commanded his … well, actually, all of their fates, and being appalled at his lack of manners. He and Narcissa had raised him better! Lucius pondered if he should remind his son, but was concerned that he would be overstepping his boundaries.

When tears sprang to his son's eyes, Lucius realised that - no matter how amicable Harry Potter usually was to their plights - his son's disrespect seemed to have exceeded his tolerance. The moment Draco hissed and fanned his mouth, reaching for his wine, Harry took it away, laughing. Anxious, Lucius wanted to speak up to ease his Lord's cruelty, when Narcissa put a hand on his arm, silencing him before he got the chance. He was then forced to watch as Harry handed over his beer, before reaching for one of the soft, fluffy, yellow squares he had piled up in the middle of the table.

Chuckling, the young man instructed, "Here, take a sip and then eat this."

Stuffing his mouth desperately, between wetting it with sips of beer right from the bottle, Draco gasped, "By Morgana, my day is hard enough without you trying to poison me with dinner, Potter!"

Summoning another bottle of beer, serving the blond, Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not as if this was my fault. If only you had waited for me to explain the dish, before goring yourself, you would have heard me advising you only to take a small bite, to judge if it is too spicy for you. Should that be the case, yoghurt is available. The cornbread is there to balance the taste, but if the dish is too hot, it will only help a little."

"I don't think I'm hungry anymore," Draco replied petulantly, trying to rise.

Now Harry's tone took a commanding edge, as he ordered, "Sit down! I don't care if you only chose cornbread and yoghurt for dinner, but you **will** eat something! You're on your feet since six-thirty. So, you can at least take your time with dinner!"

"Yesterday, you said …"

"I know what I have said, Draco," the raven-haired sighed, touching the bridge of his nose as if praying for patience. "But now I am telling you to bloody shut up and eat. Things won't progress any faster if you topple over from exhaustion!"

And finally, the blond relented and sank back into his chair, pulling his plate back. "Fine."

Rolling his eyes, Harry gazed at the two Malfoys, "Now that that's out of the way," surprisingly he did not seem bothered by the scene their son had just made, the young wizard explained. "As I have mentioned before, this is Chilli. It is a spicy meat-stew with beef or minced meat, corn and beans. I got to know the dish during my time in South America. The first time I ate it, I felt like my brain was melting out of my ears. However, since then, I have experimented with the recipe. I have found the perfect amount of spices for my liking. However, since neither of you is used to this, add as much yoghurt as you need. Traditionally it is served with flatbread or - as I am offering - cornbread. If you do not like it at all, I have butter and an assortment of cheese, as an alternative."

"I am sure it is delicious," Narcissa offered, serving her husband and herself, before taking a small bite.

At Harry's encouragement, she added a healthy amount of yoghurt, before cutting up a square of the 'cornbread' on an extra plate.

Tending to his own meal, exotic but not entirely unpleasant, Lucius looked at his son, when he stated, as soon as his plate was empty, "I will return to the garden now," while glaring mutinously at their Lord. Concerned about that open defiance, the pureblood gazed at Harry, who merely rolled his eyes. It was evident that his liege considered Draco's rudeness a mere inconvenience. However, Lucius was worried if that would hold true if his son did not change his behaviour over the next few days.

That night, the former Lord lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, restless until morning was nearly dawning.

\--O-O--

Coincidentally, father and son shared the same plight, though Draco's day could not have been more different from Lucius'. Sleeping with Potter had definitely helped for a part of the night, but around five a.m., Draco had shot up from the bed, panting, memories of the Dark Lord drowning him. Not wanting to disturb his companion, he had slipped out of the of the room. After an extensive shower - where he had tried to wash off the stench of that snake-faced bastard - had retreated to his new laboratory.

As his first potion, he had chosen a mild pepper-up, since it shared virtually no ingredients with the antidote and healing-draught he was required to brew. It also served to familiarise him with his new equipment. Draco had begged out of breakfast since he had been at a critical stage in his brewing when Harry had risen. Once he was finished, he had accepted the toast and scrambled eggs Kreacher had pushed on him - camomile tea included - and had learned that the Auror had been called back to active duty.

Draco had then left for the Weasley-Granger home, gratefully accepting a cup of English Breakfast, while feeding Inari. As soon as the little fox was settled, he had returned to Grimmauld Place. The afternoon had been an exercise in futility, since studying his godfather's notes and being actually able to brew the poison-extracting-potion were two completely different things.

Around half past five, he had passed Potter in the kitchen, where the raven-haired was just putting away the groceries, sharing, "I'll exterminate the roses now!" Before attackin0g the vines with vigour.

After failing several times at his given task, it felt good to tear down the plants. And though he could hear Kreacher share his misfortune of the exploding cauldrons with Harry, when the raven-haired had entered the back-garden, he could not even be bothered to snap at the elf. It was cathartic to let out his frustration by destroying something, so he did not want to be interrupted.

As Draco lay in bed that night, he went over Severus' notes once again, trying to discover where he had gone wrong. When his vibrating wand woke him the next day, he felt like he had just closed his eyes.

\--O-O--

Still not having gained the slightest insight into the poison-extracting potion, the next day, let alone the antidote, Draco decided to end his work in the lab around teatime. When he joined Potter in his office, cucumber-sandwiches, biscuits and another pot of camomile tea - Emerald seriously needed to expand her selection of beverages - the blond shared a new plan. "I want to build a shack for Inari, the muggle way. We can always repurpose it later when Lovegood's cave has been put in place, but until then, I want her to have a retreat in the garden."

Sipping his tea, Harry wanted to know, "Why the muggle way?"

"Because I trust it more," Draco explained. "Magic can fail you, and I don't want her retreat to crumble down around her. I'm sure I can find some leftover wood at the Manor. A basic shack should not be that difficult to create."

Having noticed how the blond had consequently avoided his eyes, Harry repeated, patiently, "Why the muggle way?"

Putting his teacup down with unnecessary force, Draco snapped, "Because I seem to be unable to achieve anything useful with magic these days!"

"The poison still explodes into your face as soon as it's separated from the blood?" The raven-haired pondered.

Folding his arms before his chest, the blond turned to look away resentfully but nodded anyway.

Putting a comforting hand on Draco's knee, Harry reminded him, "Draco, … Hermione, Ron and I have worked on this for the last three years and have never gotten anywhere. Don't be too bothered about not succeeding after two mere days."

With a huff, the other sank into his chair, offering despondently, "Well, the three of you did not have Severus' journals. Nor did any of you have a Potion Master for a godfather."

Realising that nothing he could say would be of any comfort, simply because Draco did not want to be comforted but sulk, Harry suggested, "Why don't you sketch up the basic construction you have in mind. Tomorrow, after you have tended to Inari, we will go to the hardware store and buy the necessary supplies. Also, some varnish, so it won't rain through it."

Studying his opposite testily, not sure if the other wizard was making fun of him, the blond nodded after a minute. "That would be welcome."

\--O-O--

That evening, the former Lord found his son cutting down wood-planks in the back-garden of Grimmauld Place while consulting a whimsical sheet of paper every other plank. He looked barely any better than yesterday, but at least he was not covered in scratches.

Draco still wolfed down his dinner, before retreating to his task.

"What is my son building out there?" Lucius could not help to ask, interrupting his wife's and host's conversation testily.

"A cage," Harry informed him off handily before he returned to discuss his New Year's Eve plans with Narcissa.

\--O-O--

The next few days continued in the same pattern. Draco exhausted himself with physical labour, with little sleep on the side, or so Lucius presumed from the dark circles that bloomed under his son's eyes. Their master even forced tea and chocolate on him once, before cruelly shooing him back into the garden, after the boy had barely touched his meal, asserting that he was not hungry.

\--O-O--

Lucius did not fare any better than his son.

Though he was not required at the Department of Magical Law between Christmas and New Year, the former Lord could barely sit still in his own home. Memories of how his son had acted around Potter at Christmas, as opposed to the day before, wove themselves into an incomprehensible net he tangled himself up in. Hence, the pureblood filled his days by using the copying charm the young Hermione Granger had given him, digitalising as much of his library as possible. Yet, often, he came across books on Dark Magic he did not want to offer. Least of all to the Department of Magical Law. Those tomes once again drove the message home, how 'complicated' his family's history was. His father had insisted on Lucius studying this kind of magic from an early age. Abraxas had advised him that he always needed the upper hand in any situation. Why Dark Magic had to be involved, the former Lord only now took the time to contemplate. Though he shared the belief that knowledge was power, and with magic that was even truer, Lucius wondered when it all had become about power, instead of what was best for their family. Knowing the darkest curses had certainly not helped, in the end.

At night he tossed and turned, sometimes so violently that Narcissa had to shake him awake. Not wanting to bother his wife, Lucius never shared his concerns, merely kissed her head, assuring her, that he was fine. But the pictures his mind conjured stayed with him, making him afraid to go back to sleep. Draco was a prominent protagonist; actually, the one featured most often. His son had taken the Dark Mark, not because he had considered it an honour, but to protect him and Narcissa. In his dreams, Lucius was forced to watch his only child walk the path of damnation again and again and again. He was compelled to relive raids he had committed with Severus by his side, now showing Draco in his old friend's place, laughing cruelly at the muggles who whittled at the end of his wand. Witches and wizards he had witnessed being killed screamed out their last breath with his son hovering above them, whispering, "Avada Kedavra," laughing like a maniac. When they returned to the Manor afterwards, Draco's usually soft grey eyes were shining mercurial, much like Bella's and his blond hair stood up on ends, making him appear deranged and dangerous. Lucius woke in cold sweat after such episodes, but those were not even the worst nightmares he suffered.

The worst dreams his twisted mind came up with were of Draco still and composed, dressed all in black and polished to a shine. He never said anything, never acted out, never took the initiative. He merely stood beside the Dark Lord's chair, following his every whim. Even the simplest of gestures were correctly interpreted, and hissed orders - hearing the snake-language still drove shivers down Lucius' back - fulfilled swiftly and accurately. It seemed not to matter if the order in question was the demand for more wine, a meal or a curse being thrown at one of the Dark Lord's followers that sat the table. In these dreams, Lucius sat frozen in his chair, too far down the table to understand what Lord and servant were talking about. Still, he was close enough to notice the adoring look in his son's eyes, whenever his gaze fell on the hooded figure by his side. When Narcissa spoke up unexpectedly, his heart stopped. The Dark Lord did not take well to backtalk, and Lucius knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that his son would never raise his wand against his own mother. That night, however, he was proven wrong. At a quiet hiss from the Dark Lord, Draco lifted his wand and whispered, "Crucio." Lucius could see his wife arched up from her chair in agony, though no sound escaped her lips. When he gazed up at the table, wordlessly pleading with the terrifying couple to stop this, his son's wand wandered from his wife to himself. In a cold voice, Draco proclaimed, "This is all your fault. I tried to do what was best for our family. Tried to keep the two of you safe. But there was only one way. And now, we all have to live with the consequences." And when the cloaked figure finally turned towards Lucius, his hood fell away, and the eyes that met his were not blood-red, like the ones he had known all his life. They were emerald green and filled with unholy glee.

Lucius Malfoy woke screaming.

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "My liege detests me! "Lucius despaired, walking a grove into the carpet of his wife's salon. "This will end badly for all of us. By Merlin."


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yes … No … Bloody hell, hold still you little devil!" Charlie Weasley sputtered, before finally losing his grip on something white and furry that shot through the garden with excited yips, right into Draco's open arms. The little fox's attack unbalanced the wizard, so he landed on his backside, laughing carefree at her antics, while she gave him a tongue-bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have noticed, I decided on a bi-monthly update schedule. I want to give myself the time to really enjoy working on this story, without having to rush it. Since I'm currently not 100% into writing, I only manage about 1.000 words a week and though I definitely plan to finish this fic, it will take some time. So, have fun :).

When Harry casually mentioned, "You still need a collar and a leash," two days before New Year's Eve, Lucius just could not hold back any longer. His endurance and the last of his composure had vanished under the suffocating horrors of his nightmares. Hence, he pushed his chair back with enough force to topple it over and advanced on Potter, "How dare you? My son came to you in good faith. He pledged himself to you, and now he suddenly needs a cage? And not only that, a leash and a collar as well! What kind of monster are you?"

"Father!" His son tried to intervene, but Harry interrupted Draco with a mere gesture. Slowly putting down his wand; apparently, the former Lord did not even necessitate him being on the defence enough to keep it in hand; his cold eyes concentrated on Lucius. Slowly rising, he faced the man and sneered, "What is it to you? Your precious child is not your concern any longer. You lost him the day you decided to bow to a Lord who was all but empty promises and torture, rather than taking care of the people who loved you. But that's over now. Draco is mine!"

Maybe this was unnecessarily cruel of him, but after everything that had happened, Harry felt like this was long since overdue. Lucius had acted all pliant and submissive after entering the Rite of Compulsory Surrender, had not challenged him once, never tested the boundaries of the magic that chained them together. Of course, the young Auror had noticed the father's concerns, but opposite to his wife, he had never asked the cause of Draco's current plight. Not even talked to Narcissa apparently, since she had inquired about Draco's exhaustion on the Second Day of Christmas, where he had come in all scratched up and angry. Apparently, she had received a satisfactory answer, since she had never brought it up with him. The pureblood did not trust his liege… obviously. But that he, apparently, did not even talk to his family was disconcerting.

However, all thoughts of his vassal's trust issues fled his mind when the older wizard was goaded into an attack by his heartless reply. In a last, desperate attempt to gain the upper hand, the former Lord did the unthinkable and picked up Harry's wand, pointing it at its master.

Calling himself a fool, the young Auror hissed a parsel shielding spell, but before the pureblood could have cast his first spell, invisible shackles seemed to constrict around his throat. Falling to his knees, Lucius let go of the wand and started clawing at his neck desperately, before his hands snapped behind his back, forcing him to bend backwards, exposing his throat and chest.

Not taking his eyes off his panting vassal, the young wizard picked up his wand and ordered the shocked Narcissa and Draco, "Please, leave us."

Narcissa seemed to contemplate begging leniency for her husband, but after what he had done, she knew that harsh punishment was inevitable… deserved, even. Glancing at Harry for a heartbeat, Draco offered his arm. "Mother, join me. There is something I would like to show you."

Once Harry and Lucius were alone, the young wizard reclaimed his seat and studied the gasping man. Apparently, the spell was meant to punish but not to harm, since the pureblood was still conscious. However, the former Lord seemed to be bound quite effectively, unable to defend himself, should his liege decide to retaliate for the attack. Recalling the details of what Hermione had told him about the Rite, Harry slowly raised his wand and brushed over his trembling vassal's neck. The magical choke-hold lessened gradually, allowing Lucius to breathe freely once again. The liege permitted the other to gather his composure and to think about what he had done. The platinum-haired seemed to curl into himself, until the invisible bindings seemed to be the only thing holding up his trembling body. After a while, he choked, "I am sorry, my Lord, I thought …"

"I know what you have thought!" Harry interrupted with forced calm. "And I could not be any less inclined to discuss it with you. You entered the Rite of Compulsory Surrender with me, and though I am aware that everything is better than receiving the Dementor's Kiss, I would suggest you take your time to review what you know of me and my actions towards your family." Pulling a sheet of paper out of a drawer, Harry jotted down a few things before throwing the paper at Lucius' feet, well, knees in this case.

"Draco!"

As if having merely waited for the summoning, the blond entered the room and approached Harry cautiously. Off-handed the raven-haired inquired, "How long do you want the leash to be?"

Understanding how Harry wanted to play this, Draco went along and suggested, "Three feet of small chain-links, so it won't get too heavy?"

"That won't allow for much manoeuvring."

Quite a Slytherin approach, not saying what this was about while playing to the expectations - or rather fear - of the audience. And though Draco was not overly comfortable to do this to his own father, he too felt that Lucius had made a mistake that, with _any_ other master, might have killed him. Hence, a punishment was inevitable. Also, if his father had more faith in his liege, none of this would have happened. So, Draco merely shrugged, "It's not supposed to. But I want the collar to be soft. Black leather preferably."

"Yes," Harry smirked, eyes travelling lecherously over Draco's throat, a gesture that made the blond tilt his neck in response. "That will offer a nice contrast." Slowly the raven-haired raised his hand. It might look languorous to an observer, but Draco could see the offer for him to retreat. However, he had chosen his side, so he pushed into the gesture, allowing Harry to caress his throat. "Eight inches ought to be enough, ten the most. We want it nice and snuggly."

Instead of his father, Draco chose to answer in a sultry tone, "Yes, Harry."

Looking back at the kneeling pureblood, the liege flickered his wand, releasing the bonds. Though he was not touching Draco any longer, the blond still stood beside him. A part of the young Auror was repulsed by the perverse pleasure he felt that Draco Malfoy had apparently chosen him over his father. However, now was not the time to delve too deep into that matter. "You have your orders, Lucius. Kreacher will give you money. The address of the shop is on the paper. Now leave, I expect you back with the collar and the leash tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp. Don't dare to be late!"

"Yes, my Lord," the man whispered hoarsely, barely able to force the words through his abused throat before he fled.

With a defeated sigh, Harry turned towards Draco. "Your mother?"

"Decided to await departure in the living-room. She said something about the room being extraordinarily informative." He frowned a moment, before returning his attention to the raven-haired before him.

"Did she …"

"No," Draco interrupted gently, "She trusts you."

After a few moments, the raven-haired asked quietly, "Why?"

Why had Draco not tried to explain who the leash and the collar were really for? Why had he chosen Harry's side over his father's?

Able to sense the meaning behind the questions, the blond offered comfort by replying easily, "Because so should he."

"Draco?"

Harry's quiet voice held him back before he could even reach the door. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

Sighing, the blond turned around, leaning against the door. Maybe he too should clarify a few things instead of merely picking up the other's clues. It would give them both some security with this arrangement.

"Listen, Potter, when I came to you, you were my last resort. I was ready to be hurt … humiliated even. It could not have been worse than before. Not compared to what the Dark Lord … Voldemort has put us through. But not only have you helped us, you were decent about it." With a noise that was half sneer and half chuckle, Draco continued, "Certainly more decent than I would have been, were our positions reversed. Anyway, father needs to get a grip on our new reality. When you brought him here, the day of his trial, he told me that we ought to thrive to become better men. Yet, when bad comes to worse, he still falls back into old habits. That's not looking into the future … becoming better, that's losing oneself in the past."

Raising one arm, pulling back his sleeve, the former Death Eater displayed his Dark Mark. "This is a chain that will always bind us to the wrong decisions we have made. It will never go away.  But we can still decide if it is the only darkness we carry into our future or one of many."

"So, you approve of my chosen punishment?"

Marring his bottom lip with his teeth, Draco shook his head after a moment. "You are hurting him … no, you are making him hurt himself, and I can't approve of that. He is my father after all, and a part of me wants to ask for clemency on his behalf."

Stepping closer, Harry studied the other wizard. Both knew how incredibly lenient he was with his vassal. Still, the question remained, "Then why don't you?"

Shrugging, the blond replied, "Because I remember how it was with Him. Father deserves punishment, for he has tried to attack you, even taken your wand. Voldemort would have killed him for far less. This… this is nothing."

That night, the four barely found any sleep. Harry, Draco and Lucius were starring at the ceiling of their respective bedrooms. Narcissa, on the other hand, sat quietly in the dining room of the manor. This room held so many nightmares, some of them even during the daylight hours. But at no point in the past had her husband ever made as much of a fool of himself, as he had tonight. Fear was the wrong way to rule. Voldemort had only ever had cowards as his followers who had quivered before him but had never acted on their full potential out of fear to displease him, Bellatrix had been the only exception. Narcissa still shuddered when she recalled the maniac devotion her sister had shown for their former master. Harry was better, so much better than Tom Riddle could have ever become because people followed him out of faith. Maybe it was vindictive of her to let Lucius come to that conclusion on his own, but on the other side, after what he had put their family through, she felt the tiniest bit entitled to see him fall. The first light of dawn found her curled up in her chair, covered by a soft, warm blanket one of her elves had spread over her.

\--O-O--

Lucius' dreams seemed to follow him to his weakened state, the following day. Instead of seeing his son, subdued and cowered into doing menial muggle tasks until he broke under strain, or jumping at every hiss from a nightmarish version of Potter, images of his child chained, leashed and trapped in a cage plagued his every waking moment. Especially when he was faced with the store-front of the pet-shop his master's note had directed him to.

\--O-O--

Draco suffered through the night, by starring at the ceiling of his room, trying to discover when exactly his loyalties had shifted, prioritising Potter's emotional wellbeing over that of his family. That moment had to have happened since there was no other explanation to have taken Potter's concerns more seriously than his father's, still, he could not find it. Lucius was undoubtedly suffering, but the idea of him attacking Harry again made Draco think that he deserved the punishment his liege had heaped on his head. How horrible of a son was he?

Around two a.m. he finally gave up sleep as futile, wrapped a quilt around himself and ascended to the third floor. Maybe he could …

Noises from the second bedroom drew Draco's attention. As he listened to the door, he could hear Harry's despairing voice.

"… I mean, what kind of person does this make me? Lucius' pain might be emotional instead of physical, but I am still the one causing it. It feels … it feels too vindictive … too personal."

There was some shuffling, before the other wizard continued, in a much quieter tone. "I wish you could advise me in this. You were Lucius' friend once. God, I wish you were awake."

Aware that there was literally nothing any of them could do that night, Draco knocked briefly before entering. Drawing his wand, he gazed at Harry, who had just jumped up from 'their' armchair. With a flicker of his wrist and a mumbled incantation, the chair expanded into a settee big enough for them both. Then he shuffled past Potter and stretched out on it. Once comfortable, Draco lifted his arm. After but a moment of hesitation, the raven-haired joined him.

"Thank you," Harry whispered after a while.

"Shut up, Potter," the blond yawned. "It's after two, and you really can't afford to lose any more beauty sleep."

 He could hear the quiet chuckle, before the other acquiesced, "Yes, Draco."

\--O-O--

The next morning dawned bright and cold, but the two young wizards barely took notice, until Kreacher woke them around half past eight.

"The young masters want to take showers and make themselves presentable before Miss Emilia arrives in half an hour."

Scrambling to obey the judgemental tone of the house-elf, since Kreacher had taken an exceptional liking to the medi-witch and had proved quite vindictive in the past if his 'masters' were not making an effort. He thrived to leave all but the best impression. The two sat in the kitchen after but twenty minutes, Harry's hair tamed for once since he had combed it back, while still wet. Trading parts of the Daily Prophet and the muggle newspaper Harry was subscribed to, Draco noticed the date. "You force my father on a shopping trip into muggle London on the first Saturday after Christmas? You are positively evil."

Since, in his opinion, he had chosen a punishment that fitted the crime, the raven-haired replied quickly, "It's not as if the pet-shop will be packed."

Five to ten, they manoeuvred the cage Draco had built into the back garden. They would leave it to Inari to find a place for it and then put it there.

Lucius looked gaunt and pale when he and Narcissa entered the garden at ten a.m. on the dot. Though the pureblood witch seemed a little sleep-deprived as well, she still forced a polite smile and went to her son, the moment Charlie Weasley popped into the pavilion.

"Yes … No … Bloody hell, hold still you little devil!" The redhead sputtered, before finally losing his grip on something white and furry that shot through the garden with excited yips, right into Draco's open arms. The little fox's attack unbalanced the wizard, so he landed on his backside, laughing carefree at her antics, while she gave him a tongue-bath.

Recognition and something akin to understanding lit up Lucius's eyes, as he watched her son wrestling with his little companion. Truthfully, he had not given the fox he and Harry had rescued during the Yule hunt another thought, after departing from the Weasleys. Draco, however, seemed to have done the exact opposite.

At a more sedated pace, Charlie crossed the lawn. "Hi, Harry, Lady Malfoy, Mister Malfoy. A pleasure to see you again."

While the purebloods merely tilted their heads, Harry greeted in an even tone, "Hi, Charlie."

"I brought your little fox," the redhead replied equally demure.

"I can see that."

Both watched the blond and his pet before the dragon-tamer continued drily. "I think she missed him."

"Apparently so," the raven-haired chuckled.

Then they could not keep their composure any longer. The moment the little she-fox jumped into a heap of snow, only to return to her new owner excitedly moments later, shuffling some snow along to play with, both burst into laughter. After hugging each other, Harry stated, "Thank you for taking the time. Ron said Inari is nigh unmanageable when Draco is not around."

Gesturing at the new cage, Charlie inspected the construction, after an inviting gesture. "That's actually a good thing."

"Forgive the question, Mr Weasley," Narcissa stepped up to him. "But how can my son choosing an unmanageable pet be a good thing?"

Satisfied with the vixen's new home, the dragon-timer smiled. "Inari is difficult for everyone _but_ Draco. That means that her instinct recognises his magic. Maybe she even has a little of her own, only time will tell. She has the potential to become his familiar. However, she is barely older than two seasons. So, we will have to wait and see."

Familiars, true familiars were rare, especially in their part of the world. Everything was just too … domesticated in Wizarding Kingdom. India had been different, Harry recalled. The very earth had been fuelled with magic, and every other witch or wizard had had a magical animal by their side. Sometimes to help with their spell-work, but mostly just to keep them company. The most amazing magical beast the young wizard had come across had been a black leopard, who had chosen a witch barely out of her diapers. Her raw magic had manifested in the growth of the most marvellous fruits and flowers in her parents' garden. And all the majestic beast had to do to enable her, was nap on the roof of her small house, at the edge of the jungle.

Now there was a chance for Inari to become the same for Draco. Harry wished for this to come true. His companion truly deserved it. However, before the little fox reached maturity, they could not know. "Do you think Draco's cage is sufficient?"

Looking up, the Charlie asked surprised, "Your little Malfoy built this?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "He said that he did not trust magic not to topple down around Inari."

Since the first excitement of being back with her wizard seemed to have abated, and the little fox had set out to explore her new habitat. Therefore, the blond languidly walked over to join them and inquired, "Do you think it is big enough? We can cast warming charms around it, but I was concerned that she might be too hot, with her winter pelt and her usually living outdoors and all that."

"So, you built this for your fox, as per your own decision?" Lucius asked incredulously, watching his son. The pureblood looked even paler now, then he had upon entering, finally catching up with what ought to have been evident in the first place.

Calmly, Draco turned towards his father. "Of course, I did. Who else would I built it for?" After a moment, where nobody said a word, the young wizard held out his hand. "Leash and collar, if you please. I assume you followed your liege's instructions to the letter."

Defeated, Lucius held out the paper-wrapped band of leather and a coiled leather leash.

"That's twelve inches at least," the blond groaned, inspecting the collar.

"I thought …," the former Lord explained quietly, but was interrupted, "Charlie, thanks for bringing her around, but …"

"Yea," the red-head nodded, grateful for the chance to flee this awkward scene. Though he did not know what was going on, the pale faces of the adult Malfoys and the way Lucius kept looking at Harry and his son spoke of a huge hippogriff in the room, he certainly did not want to poke with a stick. He briefly patted Harry on the back with a, "See you on Sunday," before departing.

Once the second-eldest Weasley was gone, Harry's undivided attention returned to his vassal, who apprehensively straightened his shoulders do face his liege's wrath. Icily, the raven-haired demanded, "You were saying, Lucius?"

Barely audible, the pureblood breathed, "I am sorry, my Lord."

"I. Am. Not. Him!" Harry exploded, making all three Malfoys flinch due to the sheer volume of his angry shout. "For fuck's sake! What do I have to do… what do I have to say for you to realise that I am **NOT** Tom Marvolo Riddle!"

Though Draco approached him, trying to put a calming hand on his chest since Harry seemed ready to tear something… or someone… to pieces. The other wizard even nudged him aside, so that he retained a free line of sight towards Lucius.

"Draco came to me! **He** asked for help! **He** pledged himself to me out of his Own. Free. Will! What bloody reason would I have, to put him in a cage or chain and collar him?"

"Harry!" The blond finally snapped, reaching for the wildly gesturing hands of his companion, holding them fast. When he was able to meet the raven-haired's eyes, he emphasised with forced calm, "You are scaring Inari."

'You are scaring all of us,' remained unsaid, but looking around, Harry could see the fear in Narcissa's eyes and the thinly veiled terror in Lucius'. And though Draco had approached… even restrained him, the blond seemed to be on guard, as well. Hanging his head in defeat, Harry sighed. "What else can I do to prove that I am not Him?" He sounded so sad, desolate even, though his words were barely loud enough to be audible for Draco, who stood so close that Harry's hung head nearly touched his chest.

"Nothing," Draco confirmed, pulling Harry's hands on his chest, so the other could feel his calming breaths. "We just have to learn to trust you."

Awkwardness reigned between the four since neither seemed to know where to go from there. Inari, trying to climb Draco's leg, broke the tension.

"Maybe we can make the collar fit. Inari is still in her winter coat after all."

It turned out quite an ordeal to wrap the piece of leather around the little fox's neck. Mostly because she seemed to like it and wanted to smell it and chew on it regularly. Harry and Draco could not help but laugh at her frolicking. Even Narcissa managed a small but honest smile.

Lucius aimed for normality, by asking, "So, where do you want the fox-cage to go?"

Looking around, Narcissa suggested, "Maybe under the fir-tree next to the house. That way it is protected from weather and frost to a certain degree."

Studying that corner of the garden, Draco pondered, "We would have to cut off a few branches to make room."

The owner of the house agreed readily. "The lowest two. Do you want to do the honours?"

"I can get you a saw," Lucius offered, but after trading a brief glance with Harry, Draco shook his head. "No need, father."

Then he pulled out his wand, making both of his parents' gasp. With a few, well placed, cutting hexes, the lowest branches fell away. At a swift swish and flick, they hovered into a corner, and a levitation spell moved the cage into the greenery.

Nonchalantly, Harry leaned his elbow on Draco's shoulder, studying Inari's new sanctuary. "She seems to like it. Not bad for a day's work."

Glaring, the blond moved out from under his arm, declaring. "I'm in my lab. Fetch me when lunch is served. Mother. Father." He nodded towards his parents, before disappearing into the house.

Looking from liege to vassal and back again, Narcissa suggested, "It might be better if we depart as well. With your permission, Harry, we will return for dinner."

Gazing at the pureblood who had yet to meet his eyes, Harry forced a smile and nodded towards the Lady Malfoy. "Of course, Narcissa. Have a good day."

\--O-O--

"He detests me!" Lucius despaired, walking a grove into the carpet of his wife's salon. "This will end badly for all of us. By Merlin."

"Hm," Narcissa commented absentmindedly.

"The things I have accused him of… that I have taken his…" pressing his lips together, the pureblood forcefully suppressed a shiver. "Nobody would take that kindly. And Draco is right. He never gave us a reason to doubt his kindness."

"You are entirely correct."

"Ever since he saved me, he was compassionate and kind and…and I…" Trailing off, the pureblood gazed at his wife, only to find her frowning at his feet. "Narcissa!"

Eyes snapping up, the former Lord had expected to see her apologetic for her lack of attention. Instead, his wife's eyes burned with irritation. "Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, I swear to you, by Merlin and Morgana, if you do not sit down this instant, I will tie you up and leave you, until Harry is expecting us. Even if I have to use my drawstrings!"

Unused to this ire, he stammered, taken aback, "Narcissa! This is…"

" **This** ," she emphasised, "is the only light-blue Aubusson carpet in the entire Manor. So, until our assets have been released and you can replace it, you will desist from ruining my fixtures, with your useless pacing!"

When the pureblood pointed out, that her 'fixtures' were the least of his worries, right now, she cut him off, commanding, "Sit!"

Having been married long enough to know when it was better for his health to yield, Lucius did as ordered. His wife, however, seemed hardly placated by his compliance, because her cold eyes did not weaver. Towering over him, she stated coldly, "And while we are at it: stop this useless and frankly pathetic wallowing in self-pity. Your parents have raised you with more dignity. Your liege is angry with you? Well, what do you think the trip to the pet-shop was for? You humiliated Harry, by implying that he has nefarious intentions towards our son, despite him never giving even the slightest in that direction. Hence, he paid you back in kind. The fact that you took his wand was conveniently glossed over, and you should thank the heavens for that! He is not the Dark Lord, … Voldemort. He offers punishment that befits the crime. You suffered it. Now it's over! Draco has offered him more torment and humiliation during their school years than we ever could. Still, Harry does everything in his power to accommodate him. We were all scared when he started shouting. Still, our son had enough confidence to approach him and calm him down. For **all** of our sakes. Have you ever asked yourself why that might be?"

"I already said that I was sorry," Lucius offered weakly. He was aware that he had shown an appalling amount of bad judgement, and a hideous lack of self-restraint. But, … "What more can I do?"

With a sigh, the Lady Malfoy sank onto her sofa and shook her head. Lucius had not had it easy, as she was well aware of. The sole heir to the Malfoy name had been brought up by a domineering father, who had instilled in him the single conviction, that it ought to be his purpose in life, to make their family-name great. At Abraxas' side had stood a weak and easily frightened wife, who had not dared to speak up for anything, least of all her son. Narcissa's mother in law had been the perfect pureblood wife for the Malfoy Patriarch. Poised, well mannered, educated beyond what was expected in her time and breathtakingly beautiful. However, the current Lady Malfoy had never been able to muster even the slightest bit of respect for her. Even during her and Lucius' engagement, she had made sure that the future Lord Malfoy was aware that she would _never_ be like this! She was her own person, with ideas and convictions, born and raised to lead rather than to follow. She had been ready to meet him head-on, should he ever try to subdue her. Not only had Lucius accepted that he had fallen in love with the fierce and spirited middle daughter of the Black family, earning her respect in return. The day of her bonding, they had sworn to fight for their love and to support and cherish each other, all days of their life.

Misguided as he had been, Narcissa had never blamed him for choosing Dark over Light. She too had been seduced by Tom Riddle's promises of greatness for all purebloods. The return to the old ways and a revival of nearly forgotten traditions that had once been the base of their culture … of their magic. The charismatic man had promised them wealth, influence and power and she - like so many other Lords and Ladies - had believed him. They had all been wrong in the end. Yet, thanks to one fearless wizard, they had not paid with their lives for that mistake. Hence, there was only one advice she could offer, having gained some perspective, after having worked as Harry's 'private' secretary for the last few months. Reaching out, she gently touched her husband's clammy hands and offered, "Lucius, Harry does not need you to say sorry. He just needs you to be. Our 'Saviour' has all but the best of intentions, and I think it is time that you understand that, instead of painting the shadow of Voldemort on his shoulder at any given moment."

"How can I?" The pureblood replied quietly, "When he claims our son as his property at every turn?"

With a sigh, Narcissa asked, "Have you ever asked Draco what he has offered in exchange for your life? For the mere attempt to save you from the Kiss?"

Mute, the platinum-haired shook his head. No, he had never asked, since he had been all but convinced that he would not be able to live with the answer. Finding Potter in Draco's bed, his son defending the man's right to be there, had been his worst nightmare. Or so he had thought at the time. The truth was, he wished to know as little as possible about the 'deal' his only child had struck. The reality of the young wizards' interactions painted a gruesome enough picture as it was. His wife, however, was determined not to allow him the luxury of ignorance any longer.

"He offered himself. His life. His services. His dignity, since he claimed those were the only things still belonging to him after everything that had happened. And do you know what Harry Potter demanded, in exchange for the mere _effort_ to save your life?"

Another head shake. But Narcissa was not satisfied with non-verbal answers any longer. "What did he take?" She repeated the question, insisting on an answer.

"I don't know," Lucius replied angrily, irritated that she would force this knowledge on him. "His body, it would seem."

"Nothing!" His wife hissed, pulling back from the ignorant man.

The silence between the couple was deeper than a grave until Lucius forced out through a constricting throat. "What?"

"Harry claimed nothing, not officially. He merely kept Draco at Grimmauld Place, because he saw our son's dread of returning to his own home. He immediately departed for the Ministry, where he got all of his friends involved to come up with a plan that _might_ save you!"

"Then why …," the former Lord shook his head. His fear and nightmares tormented mind had trouble catching up with his wife's revelations. "Then why did Draco claim that Potter had the right to share his bed?"

"Because Draco assumed that that was what Harry wanted. Debts are a dangerous thing for wizards, as you very well know. And Draco owes Harry several times over. The true bond of servitude was forged after Harry was injured in the line of duty. Everyone believed our son bound to the Saviour. But only when the Head Auror threatened to take Draco back to the Manor did Harry accept his pledge. Servitude and nothing else. Not his life. Not his dignity. And certainly not his body!"

Shaking his head, Lucius tried to rise again, but a sharp look from his wife kept him in his seat. "If that is true, why is Potter so intent on advocating his claim at every turn?"

Shaking her head, the former Lady Black looked at her husband, as if he was a particularly dense first year. "Magic is all about intent," she lectured. "But more than that, it is about belief. Not only what the witch or wizard believes, but those surrounding them. Our son is the perfect Slytherin. He thinks and watches and then decides on the course of action with the most benefits for himself and those he cares about. If everybody is convinced that he belongs to Harry Potter - the Saviour of the Wizarding World - mind, body and soul, he is safer by his side, than behind even the strongest wards of Malfoy Manor. They are bound together by a promise. Nothing more, nothing less. And you and I know perfectly well, how easily such a promise can be broken. Because otherwise, why would He have ever needed these?" she asked, gently brushing her fingers over the Dark Mark on Lucius' wrist.

\--O-O--

"Harry, may I sit?"

Looking up from the puff pastry he had spread out over the kitchen table, the young wizard was surprised to find Lucius hovering at the door of the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. The bad conscience of the man was palpable, and the young man might have been tempted to laugh, but the thought of this man, his vassal, the person he had saved from the Dementor's Kiss believing him capable of collaring and caging someone, his son on top of that, killed all sparks of humour.

"Be my guest," he replied tonelessly.

It was hard not to fidget, especially knowing how spectacularly he had failed this young man. But Lucius had been brought up to keep up appearances at all cost. So, he steeled himself and looked up. The emotionless emerald-green orbs that met his nearly made him shiver. Still, he could not help but flinch when Harry asked coldly, "Have you come to make sure that I do not have Draco locked up in my dungeons during the day?"

"I doubt this place even has dungeons," Lucius forced himself to reply. "Though, knowing Walburga Black, there might be some cells."

"It has an attic and funny enough that is where your son resides the majority of the day."

Resolutely pushing down all unbidden pictures that rose in his mind, the man asked, "And what is he doing up there?"

Obviously surprised, that the other did not jump to conclusions once again, Harry dusted the flour off his hands and claimed a seat, facing his guest. "He's brewing."

"Potions?"

"No, beer," Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course, potions. The lab was his Yule gift." More or less. But Lucius did not need to know that.

Forcing a calming breath, the older wizard inquired, "What kind of potions?"

Raising his eyebrows, because finally, the man was asking the right question, the raven-haired replied, "Not a clue, to be honest."

Judging his opposite, Lucius decided after a few moments, "You are not giving my son free rein in a lab without setting him on a specific task. That would be reckless."

With a half-smile, the raven-haired agreed. "I requested a certain potion. However, how he goes about creating it, is none of my business. I trust your son to act in my best interest, as per our arrangement."

"What potion?" The pureblood repeated.

Laughing, shaking his head, the younger wizard returned to his preparations for the New Year's dinner. "Do not think that I don't appreciate you trying, Lucius, because I do. But you will have to forgive me for saying: None of your bloody business! What goes on between Draco and me stays between the two of us. But rest assured, that his magic is in no way restricted. If I insult him and he desires to hex off my bollocks, nothing will keep him from doing exactly that."

"Then why did you return his wand?" Nobody in power had ever allowed his followers unrestricted freedom. Not if that person wanted to stay in power. Worried that he had gone too far, Lucius cautiously looked up.

Harry Potter, however, merely offered a strange little smile. "When you have found the answer to **that** question, Lucius, you have truly understood the difference between Tom and me."

Realising that this statement concluded their conversation, the former Lord rose, offered a respectful bow and then departed for the Manor.

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This takes place on New Year's Eve. Just to give you a little timeframe).  
>  It always came back to drinking games. And though the famous Gryffindor courage had abandoned them on occasion, especially when faced with Slytherin cunning, nobody was prepared when Ron challenged, "Favourite scar," after draining his third beer, in addition to the two shots he had already had.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a moment of consideration, Harry shrugged, "For a man like him, it has to be unbearable to owe his life and well-being to the son of his worst enemy."  
> "You are not Voldemort's son, Harry," Emilia replied evenly.  
> "No, I am the son of James Potter, and in a way, I think that is even worse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for being delayed one day, but I was out of town with friends. I hope you will nevertheless enjoy this chapter, even when delayed :).  
> Have a great weekend.

"Do you think he'll ever get it?" Draco asked when entering from the dining-room. Since he had heard Potter and his father talking, he had decided not to interrupt. And a few minutes more or less would make no difference for their lunch.

Brushing his fingers through his dark … now speckly white strands … destroying even the slightest chance for a decent hair-do, the young wizard sighed. "I don't know. He is trying. But it seems all scenarios his mind can come up with, are tainted by his experiences with Tom."

Checking the roast, a new recipe he had been eager to try, after weaselling it out of Molly, since it would offer a particularly chewy bone for Inari, Draco shrugged, "He lived with the bastard longer than any of us."

"Yes, but he's your father. What do you think?"

Leaning beside the oven, the blond pondered. "I think Father is scared. Terrified every hour of every day, ever since Voldemort came back all these years ago. Also, the Rite does not exactly help with his emotional stability."

Frustrated, Harry threw his hands in the air, spreading flour all over the kitchen.

Casting an air-cleaning charm absent-minded, Draco explained before Harry could fly off the handle again. "Yes, I know that you have done nothing to feed that fear. But remember the tent. Even with the locket gone and the war won, you still could hardly breathe in a surrounding where terror had reigned for so long."

"Do you think we should get them out of the Manor?"

"No," the blond shook his head. "It is father's home. But maybe, we should find a way to purge it."

\--O-O--

The next evening around six, Ron and Hermione walked out of the floo, stacked with Tupperware containers to the tops of their heads. Though still using stasis charms, Ron had come to adore the colourful, plastic boxes, especially when transporting food.

"But I told you that I would care for dinner," Harry protested half-heartedly, inwardly curious what his best friend had brought.

"Sure, mate," Ron mumbled, "Where to?"

"Dining room."

"Are we doing a buffet?" Hermione asked eagerly, "I mean the cheese fondue last year was really fun, but the next day I found breadcrumbs and cheese strings in places they certainly don't belong."

Afraid to ask, but too nosy not to, Harry inquired, "Where?"

He was promptly met with a lecherous grin from Ron, who wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Forget I asked," the raven-haired deadpanned.

"Oh, vanilla cupcakes and olive-bites!" the witch exclaimed excitedly, claiming one piece each, savouring them with gusto.

At Harry's slightly disgusted look, Ron sighed, clapping his shoulder, "Yep, the time has come again. Best not to look. At least it's not chocolate this time around."

When Hermione had been pregnant with Rose, she had savoured combinations of chocolate and hard cured sausage in all forms. More than once, Ron had been tempted to weep over the chocolate treats he had brought for her when seeing them combined with Italian sausage.

Luna and Neville were next, with the dreamy girl instantly zoning in on the treacle pastries, a dish of Harry's own invention. Basically, it was but a treacle tart, baked in a muffin tin so it could be eaten in one bite. Luna's blissful moan made Neville adjust his pants, his cheeks flaming when he noticed Ron and Harry's lecherous grin.

"What?" he challenged, but while the redhead merely raised his hands, Harry could not help but tease, "So, are you enjoying my dessert variations?"

"Shut it!" His partner ordered, throwing a balled-up napkin. He was placated when Luna offered a mouth full of the delicious dish, captivated by his beautiful fiancée.

George and Angelina were next, and the girls instantly challenged each other over the strangest combinations of food. It seemed that the dark-skinned woman had not reached the craving's stage, yet. However, she appeared concerningly interested in a few of Hermione's favourites.

Ginny and Justin's arrival were met with a cheer so Harry could slip out unnoticed when Kreacher informed him that there was someone in the fireplace. For gatherings like this, he usually kept his wards down for an hour so his friends and family could enter unencumbered. Someone waiting to walk through meant that unexpected guests had decided to join as well. Well, not entirely surprising since Harry _had_ sent out invitations.

"Here is milk," the young witch pushed a gallon-canister into his hand, after entering his living-room. "And some decent tea. The last one left a lot to be desired. Where is the food?"

"Through the door and the second to the right," Harry replied with a grin. Her greeting might be harsh, but her host-gift was more than generous. Having been educated in the art of tea by Andromeda, Harry was aware that the tin-can Pansy had offered was around three galleons. An outrageous price for a pound of tea-leaves, but entirely worth it. At least in Andromeda's opinion.

"Harry."

"Blaise." The host grinned, shaking the hand of Draco's best friend, graciously accepting the bottle of wine the other wizard offered. Though he knew next to nothing about wine - apart from if the taste was to his liking or not - he knew the Zabini's to own a small vineyard in Italy. Therefore, Harry was sure that the wine would be at least as good as the tea, though certainly even more expensive.

A knock on the door surprised him since his friends were all accounted for and nobody else should know the address. Harry had never bothered to end the Fidelius on the Order's Headquarters, he had merely allowed it to wear off since it kept the harassment from the reporters to a minimum. Therefore, he was astounded to find Daphne Greengrass standing in the doorway.

"How?"

"I have my ways," the member of the Inquisition Squad assured him. "Are you going to invite me in?"

"Of course," Harry scrambled back. "Thanks for coming. With only you, Pansy and Blaise, Slytherin will still be a minority. But I think Draco will appreciate you coming."

"That's right because no matter how sneaky you think you are, you would have never made it in the House of the Snakes." She sneered, whacking him over the head with a scroll.

"Ow, what …?" Harry started, but when the witch unrolled it, he blanched. "Oh my god."

"'By Merlin' would certainly be more appropriate. What did you think, Potter, that they would not track his wand, no matter how suspiciously absent?"

A hovering charm added to the long list of spells, Draco had done these past few days. "I did not know."

"Obviously," the young Inquisitor sneered.

"How did you…" By Merlin… this could have blown up in their faces spectacularly. Harry had not even remotely considered the possibility of there being another trace on Draco's wand. Especially since he had had it all this time. "How did they cast the trace? The wand was never at the Ministry."

Rolling her eyes, Daphne explained, "You can cast a trace on the wizard that transfers to his wand as soon as he touches it. As for how I got the scroll? After the 'investigation' at Malfoy Manor, I… liberated Draco's file from our archives."

"You stole it?"

"No, I merely changed the place where it is stored, official note included. I might have forgotten the magical trail to my office, and I am afraid my quill was leaking when I wrote down my name. Still, the process is entirely legal. It is not my fault that they aren't giving us better tools to work with."

That was not toeing the line of legality but using it as a jumping rope. However, Harry was the last person who had the right to judge. Hence, he merely tilted his head. "Thank you. I owe you one."

With a smile that could do a viper justice, Daphne agreed, "Oh yes, you do." Then she looked around. "Where is the party?"

"Third door on the right. I'll be with you in a minute. I'll go and… put this somewhere safe."

Tilting her head, Daphne Greengrass vanished into the depth of Grimmauld Place.

Studying the scroll, Harry went to his office and added a few more blank sheets to the wrap. He did not want the magic to revert to the Ministry, because it ran out of space. Then he looked around. This was supposed to be a safe place, but Lucius had proven that not even confidential documents were as protected here as Harry had assumed. While that might be a problem with his case-files, it might be disastrous with this. So, the young Auror conjured a box and sealed the scrolls in it as he climbed the stairs to the third floor. His bedroom was only ever entered by people he trusted implicitly. Draco's lab was still under Fidelius. However, neither of the two options felt just right. Therefore, at the end of the corridor, Harry turned towards the last door there. Carefully knocking, before entering, he requested, "Sir, I have a favour to ask."

When he left a few minutes later, Harry felt satisfied with his chosen hiding-place. No, Severus Snape could not do anything in case someone ransacked his sanctuary. However, the young Auror was convinced that the scroll, that transcribed the spells cast by Draco's wand was safer there than anywhere else.

\--O-O--

 It always came back to drinking games. And though the famous Gryffindor courage had abandoned them on occasion, especially when faced with Slytherin cunning, nobody was prepared when Ron challenged, "Favourite scar," after draining his third beer, in addition to the two shots he had already had.

Chuckling, Luna took off her sock and presented the sole of her left foot. A circular ring of scar-tissue sat precisely in the middle. "I stepped on one of Lockard's pixies, first year. It grew into a perfect circle. I think it is beautiful."

Neville offered his finger, where a cactus he had tried to replant at Longbottom Manor had turned out to be a hedgehog. The little guy had not thought it funny to be pulled from his nest.

Daphne showed the back of her head, where the newest addition to her team, Alexander Fairchild, had let a box of evidence fall, making her bleed like crazy. "It's probably gone in half a year, with the hair growing over it again, but until then, I am milking it for all that it's worth," she grinned maliciously.

Having gotten to know the wizard in question, Harry felt genuine pity for the guy. No way was he strong enough to stand up to Greengrass. When it was his turn, he demanded a shot. From the numerous marks that littered his body, he could not think of a single one he actually liked.

Rubbing the 'mudblood' scar on her arm, Hermione did the same, only that her glass contained juice.

Ron, however, took off his shirt, much to everyone's amusement and presented teeth-marks right over his left pectoral. "Rose gave me that one when she was one and had just started teething. I know with a little scar-salve it would vanish, but I kind of like it."

"Sap," Zabini judged, throwing a pillow at the redhead.

Ginny showed off a mark on her belly, where she had been impaled on a broken broom during her first professional game. "I bled like crazy and was unconscious for two days. But!" the witch grinned, "I still caught the snitch and wouldn't give it up, until I woke at the hospital."

Most others took the shot, and Harry was ready to refill Draco's glass, when the blond slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a scar that ran from his stomach to the middle of his chest. Slowly tracing it, he shared, "This scar I received as defence of an unwarranted attack. It was not caused by sadistic intent and the person honestly regretted it afterwards. It's basically the only mark on my body that I don't abhor."

Unsurprisingly that sobered them all up a little, and Harry rose after a moment. "I'll go and get some ice-cream."

"I'll help you," Hermione offered, but Draco held her back. "Let me."

Once the two wizards were gone, Pansy scrutinised Hermione and Ron. "He gave him that scar, didn't he?"

Chewing at her bottom lip, Hermione nodded.

"How?"

"Sectumsempra," Ron admitted. "Our boy was obsessed with yours in sixth year and was stupid enough to use a spell he had read in a book, without knowing what it would do."

Snorting, Blaise took another sip of wine, the beer apparently was not to his taste, and revealed, " **That** feeling was entirely mutual."

"Really?" Hermione asked surprised.

"Really!" Daphne confirmed. "Draco knew Harry's schedule, his 'extracurricular activities' and it would not surprise me in the slightest if he had known his favourite food as well."

"Whose favourite food?" Draco inquired, entering ahead of Harry with a tray with an assortment of miss-matched cups and spoons.

Their host followed with gallons of ice-cream.

"Harry's," Pansy stated, studying her friend.

"That's easy," Draco grinned, letting himself fall back into the armchair, distributing the cups by magic. "Treacle Tart."

"Why am I not surprised!" Blaise sneered, claiming the strawberry ice-cream before George could snatch it away.

Picking up vanilla, adding a hefty helping of fire-whiskey, George shrugged, "As if that's such an accomplishment. Harrikins' preferences are subjected to yearly updates in Witch Weekly when they have their annual version of 'most eligible bachelor'."

Trading a smirk with Pansy, Hermione revealed, "Harry never gives his true likings in these articles. Since he always hands all gifts to charity, he never tells the truth, because he 'can't bear to give away treacle tarts'."

When the gathered witches and wizards smirked at Draco, the blond snatched up the container with the chocolate mint ice-cream and took a humungous scoop before pushing it at Harry. His, "Shut up!" had all of them explode into giggles.

\--O-O--

Later that night, or early in the morning, depending on the point of view, Draco found Harry in the back garden, where the raven-haired nursed a big glass of water, watching their little fox, who seemed lost in quite happy dreams.

"You are still blaming yourself, aren't you?"

"I could have killed you that day. Would have, had Severus not been around."

"But he was," Draco insisted, forcing the other to turn and look at him. "I did not lie when I said that this is my favourite scar. I forgave you a long time ago. I think it's overdue that you forgive yourself."

Sighing, tousling his hair, Harry mumbled, "I'll try, alright?" When the blond nodded, the young wizard looked at the horizon. "The sun will be up soon. We should get some rest."

Judging the other, Draco asked, "Severus' room?"

After a moment of hesitation, Harry nodded. It was better to go into the first day of the new year together.

\--O-O--

A very, **very** obscene curse echoed through No. 12 Grimmauld Place around noon on January 1 st.

"Was'goin'on?" Ron mumbled, blinking around confused, from where he had dozed over his tea-cup.

Sidestepping Inari, who was bounding out of the kitchen as soon as the door opened, Hermione helped herself to some herbal tea while looking longingly at Harry's coffee. "Something just exploded on the third floor," she commented dryly.

"The attic," Harry corrected her, "Bacon?"

"Two slices please."

Levitating an extensive amount of cheesy toast-bites out of the oven, Ron dove into his own breakfast before asking. "Has he eaten yet?"

"No clue. Emerald?"

Looking inquisitive at the little house-elf, who sat beside his plate, levitating some cutlery in-between topping off their mugs, the little elven-girl shook her head. "Master-Draco-Sir had the shimmering flower drink, though, Sir-Harry-Master."

Reaching for another plate, the trio filled it with eggs, bacon, toast and a few slices of cut fruit Kreacher had forced on them, and a thermos full of Emerald's delicious coffee. It seemed that decorating the jars that contained the ingredients to their drinks had done the trick since while the white chamomile flowers still were her favourites, the colourful coffee plants Harry had glued to their coffee tin were a close second. She had also developed a strange liking for their spice-rack, and while most flavour-combinations she tried were still a little unusual, the majority tasted pretty good.

While Ron put a stasis charm on the dish, Hermione neatly arranged everything on a tray, and Harry requested, "Kreacher, could you please let Ron and Hermione in. Maybe they can help Draco."

Only a little reluctant, the elf revealed, "Master Regulus' lab is in the attic of No. 12 Grimmauld Place."

"Wow," the witch blinked. "I certainly did not see that one coming. But we should not be overly surprised, I guess. About a third of Regulus' old books were on potions."

"Yes," Harry sighed, polishing off the last of his breakfast. "And Draco has read them all. Twice! And still is no closer to figuring out how to stabilise the venom."

Another explosion.

"Since when is he at it?" Ron wanted to know.

"Since nine a.m.," Kreacher grumbled, hovering the empty plates to the sink. "Master applied silencing charms at the beginning. Forgot about them recently." After another moment, the house-elf snapped, "The Animal is scratching the door!"

Since it obviously bothered Kreacher, Harry emptied his cup, cursing himself for not remembering that it was always topped off with _hot_  coffee, he picked up the tray and gestured for his best friends to precede him. Inari bounded up the stairs ahead of them.

When they entered the attic, Draco was swearing another blue-streak, and Inari was whining pitiful, just outside the barrier Draco had erected to protect his brewing space. There was a smudge of something undefinable on his cheek, and he appeared both exhausted and furious at the same time.

Peeking into the cauldron, that seemed to be covered in some kind of grey sludge, Ron banished the entire thing.

"Weasley!" The blond instantly started to rage. "What by Morgana do you think you are doing?"

"Keeping you from blowing yourself up, by using contaminated equipment." Shoving the blond back, he ordered, "Eat something!"

Since his rumbling stomach made any lie of not being hungry exceedingly unbelievable, Draco merely offered a death-glare before retreating to his desk, leaving the friends to make sense of his notes. He started to savour the delicious breakfast they had brought, grateful for the break and the chance to satisfy his empty stomach. Not that he would tell them that.

"We tried that already," he heard Hermione mumble.

"But not with extract of lacewing flies," Ron countered, only to have Harry point out, "No, but Draco did."

Lacewing flies. How ridiculous. If it were that simple, Draco would have had the antidote brewed for ages! Closing his eyes, he scratched his little fox behind the ears, while keeping her from nicking bacon off his plate. Somehow, her natural affections always managed to sooth him. Maybe this was of no use. Maybe he just was not good enough to master his godfather's recipes. But he had to! Nobody but him would ever be as invested in helping Severus Snape, a former spy, a Death Eater, the dungeon bat of Hogwarts.

"Malfoy, what does 4 ∆ 75 mean?" Weasley asked out of the blue.

"It's a reference to his fourth journal," the blond revealed. "On page 75, he discusses the temperature needed for brewing antidotes."

"But you aren't brewing an antidote," the redhead mumbled.

"Of course, I am!" Draco snapped, turning around. "Brewing the antidote to Nagini's poison in the point of all this!"

"I know," Ron placated, raising his hands placatingly. "But at the moment, you are just trying to stabilise a component."

Slowly getting up from his chair, Draco approached the brewing station. "What's your point?"

Since Ron was currently turning the potions journal upside down, frowning at the page, Hermione took the time to answer, "I think Ron doubts your interpretation of 4 ∆ 75."

"What else could it be?" Confused the former Slytherin watched the redhead pace the length of the attic while mumbling to himself.

"I have seen this. Where have I seen this before?"

Trading a glance with the boys, the witch suggested, "Since it's Professor Snape's handwriting, probably at Hogwarts?"

Slowly turning towards his brilliant wife, Ron's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Hermione, you're a bloody genius!" Turning towards his best friend, he inquired, "Did Snape's journals, by any means, include the half-blood prince's potion's books?"

"Yes?" Harry drew out.

"Gimme!" Ron demanded excitedly, throwing Draco the journal, before excitedly leafing through the book Harry offered. After but a minute, he shouted excitedly. "Ha! Knew it!" Placing the schoolbook on the table, Ron read out loud, "While there are many ways to stabilise volatile ingredients, Essence of Lacewing Fly is one of the most common, since it is non-toxic and can be ingested with minimal side-effects. For salves and poultices, the bark of Variegated Goton might be used, since the mild skin irritation it can cause, is neglectable, compared to the inflictions it might attempt to cure."

With a sigh, Draco informed him, "I have tried that as well."

With a grin, Ron pointed at the little triangle above the picture of the Goton and then at the note a young Severus Snape had scribbled into the margins of the page.

Baffled, the blond wizard burst out, "You have got to be kidding me!"

"What?" Hermione snapped irritated, not enjoying being left out. Immediately she claimed the book. "Valerian Root? All we need is Valerian Root to stabilise the damn poison?"

"Exactly," Ron beamed, high-fiving Harry, who promised, "One Valerian Root coming up!"

\--O-O--

It was anybody's guess how it had happened, but an hour later, Ron and Draco stood side by side in front of a new cauldron the redhead had produced out of nowhere. Harry had found Valerian Root in Neville's greenhouse at Longbottom Manor and was, once again, infinitely grateful for a partner who trusted him enough to not ask questions. At least for now.

"We need more blood," Draco informed him, when Harry entered the attic around four in the afternoon, with some snacks and more coffee. Hermione had left two hours earlier, to pick up Rose from Bill and Fleur.

\--O-O--

"I need more blood," Harry announced when entering Snape's room, a minute later.

Looking up from the strengthening exercises she was currently engaging her patient in, Emilia chuckled, "Should you not at least invite me to dinner before you make such a request, Mr Potter? Or… I don't know… give me a Dark Mark?"

"I mean I need Professor Snape's blood," Harry corrected himself, blushing ever so slightly, already used to the sharp tongue of their medi-witch and her particular brand of humour.

"I'm honestly not sure if bleeding my patient dry is any better."

Instantly concerned, the young wizard approached the bed. "Are we putting him in danger?"

Casting some cleaning charms, before covering Snape with a fresh blanket, Emilia inquired, "That depends on how much blood you have taken from him."

"A vial at the beginning of the week, but we might need more if this works."

"How much more?"

Shrugging, Harry admitted, "To be honest, I have no clue, since we do not know how much venom we can extract from one dose."

Pondering the situation, the medi-witch decided, "I would draw the line at two vials per week. But since creating the antidote would render Mr Snape conscious, able to ingest blood replenishing potions, I would agree to three at one time, but not more than once a week."

After a quick calculation, the raven-haired pondered, "So, if I take one now, I could take another two tomorrow, since the donation before that is seven days in the past."

"Basically," the witch agreed. Judging the condition of her patient, Emilia revealed, "He has grown stronger these last two weeks. His vitals are a lot more stable, but you should not risk straining him. Even if the young Mr Malfoy can brew the antidote, his body has a lot of healing to do. Not only due to the coma, but also because the last months of the war took nearly all his magical reserves. He is going to be incredibly weak, Harry."

"And is going to hate it," he finished for her. Messing up his hair, Harry sighed. "I wish I could spare him the humiliation of being dependant on someone else, even for the simplest tasks. But to be perfectly honest, I don't really care."

"How so?" The elderly witch asked, offering the requested vial.

"Because him sneering and shouting and offering insults that cut far too close to the heart, would at least mean that he is alive. Not this…," he gestured over their patient, "… existence; but really alive!"

"You have grown to love him," Emilia pondered, and Harry could only shrug. "He was the closest thing to a father I ever had, protecting me to the best of his abilities, no matter how much he despised me. Snape always treated me like any other student, without any special privileges. He never fawned over me, when I was everybody's darling, but he also never treated me any worse, even when the entire world seemed to turn against me because I said something they did not want to hear. That Tom was back, for example. Professor Snape was… I don't know… dependable. I needed that more than I was aware at the time."

"Do you think he still does?" The medi-witch asked.

"Does what?"

"Despise you."

After a moment of consideration, Harry shrugged once again. "I would imagine so, yes. For a man like him, it has to be unbearable to owe his life and well-being to the son of his worst enemy."

"You are not Voldemort's son, Harry."

"No, I am the son of James Potter, and in a way, I think that is even worse."

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No matter how good Ron had become at brewing, Draco was still better, understanding potions on a level far surpassing the redhead. Therefore, Ron had no qualms doing the 'menial' tasks of cutting, dicing and grinding. In the beginning, the blond had been surprised, but his inquiry was met with but a shrug. "We all have a vested interest for this to work. You are our best chance, so I'll do whatever I can to support you. Just like I do with George."


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All four shuddered when the magic coursed through them, connecting them to their patient, elevating him from his bed. When they intoned the reversal of the ritual, they had used five years ago, Poppy prompted Draco to slip underneath their fastened hands and approach their patient. The moment Snape opened his eyes, his godson poured the antivenom down his throat. Fortunately, the Potion Master swallowed on instinct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following the sound advice of my cherished betareader DarthKrande, I want to offer a disclaimer:  
> I'm aware that there is an unusually strong connection between Severus and Harry, at least from Harry's point of view. To those of you who consider this a contradiction to canon, I want to say: you are absolutely right. Harry Potter never saw Severus Snape as a kind man who went out of his way to help him. He might have understood Snape's motives after reviewing his memories, but I don't think that changed his emotional stance on the man that profoundly.  
> Harry had a 'saving people' thing, hence he invited Snape as a patient into his own home. How little he cared for him at that point, can be seen by him traipsing all over the world, leaving the Potion Master alone with but a nurse-made and an house-elf to care for him.  
> After his return, however, Harry had the potion master in his home for four more years. He used him as a sounding board, as a confidant, even though the man could not answer. He created an emotional connection when there was none before. Though it was one-sided, Harry feels a lot closer to Snape in my story, than he ever would have in the books. All through Harry's 'depression' when nothing seemed to go right in his life, Severus was there, listening. At least form Harry's point of view. So no matter how 'wrong' this feels to you, please just roll with me.  
> If you have questions, I will be happy to answer them. After all, I put a lot of thought into this story and am sure that I can provide believable explanations as to why the characters react the way they do.  
> Now, onward, and have a lot of fun. You've all been waiting a long time for this chapter. I think it will be worth it :).

"It worked."

Ron's incredulous words cut through the silence of the attic, not long after sundown. Though he had planned to follow his wife before dinner, being so close to finally succeeding had kept him at Grimmauld Place and the blond's side, who now stood frozen beside him, staring at the steaming cauldron.

Slowly turning around in Draco's desk chair, where he had gone over Snape's medical records after Emilia had shared her concerns, Harry demanded, "Come again."

"The Weasel is right," Draco breathed out, his voice barely audible in the vast room. "It worked. We've got the venom."

"Watch it, ferret," the redhead insulted on autopilot, holding out a sterilised vial with shaking hands, while Draco forced his trembling fingers to still long enough to use a glass pipette to extract the clear drop they had separated from the blood and sealed it in.

Awed, the three wizards starred at the vial the blond had placed in the middle of his granite table before Ron exploded.

**"You did it!"**

Pulling Draco and Harry as well, into a bear-hug, the three danced through the attic, screaming from the tops of their lungs.

**"We did it!"**

**"Draco did it!"**

"By Merlin."

They whirled around until Draco started sobbing, tears streaming down his cheeks. Pulling the exhausted wizard into his arms, Harry looked at Ron helplessly. His friend, however, merely smiled and shook his head. Putting a steadying hand on the blond's shoulder, Ron whispered into his ear, "You did well. You can be proud of yourself." Then he left.

Bounding down the stairs, he shouted from the third floor, "I'll be back tomorrow at eight. Breakfast better be ready!"

Draco needed a few more minutes to calm down. Embarrassed that the stress of the last months had finally gotten the better of him, he turned away to clean up. "Sorry, … I … I wasn't sure that I would succeed and now … it being so easy … sorry."

"It was not easy," Harry reminded him softly. "And Ron is right, you did good, amazing! But now, we should have dinner and get a good night's rest."

"No," the young potioneer turned towards his workstation. "I can finally brew the antidote and …"

"No, Draco," Harry interrupted calmly, reaching for the other's wrist to turn him back around. "You heard Ron. He will be back tomorrow. The two of you can tackle the antidote, then. Merlin knows it's complicated enough to brew. So, the second set of hands will not go amiss. And, as strange as this may sound, with all the experimental potions for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Ron is the best brewer of the three of us."

"Bet Granger does not like that," the blond mumbled, trying weakly for a joke while following Harry downstairs.

With a soft smile, Harry shared, "Actually, Hermione is incredibly proud of him."

"Must be nice."

"What must be?"

"To have a spouse that is proud of your accomplishments, instead of jealous. Most purebloods, the marriages are arranged, and with most of the couples, the husband and wife try to best one another at every given opportunity. Mother and father, do it again, though to a lesser degree. I doubt that Lucius is aware of how much his wife narrows down his options, whenever they meet with the other purebloods. I think in our society, few notice, how much is going on between the wives when they meet for 'tea'." He made air-quotes before glancing at the door Ron had disappeared through. "But your friends … they are good together. There seems never to be any struggle between them."

Laughing out loud, Harry shook his head, "You could not be more wrong. Their fights are epic! They are on their third set of dish wear already, since their wedding."

"That's not what I meant," Draco sighed. "I mean there is no struggle as to who makes the decisions; who the one with the power is. They treat each other as equals."

"Because they are!" The Gryffindor replied easily, serving them both the stew Kreacher had prepared. With Emerald's help, it would seem, since a few edible flowers decorated the pot. After a few minutes, where he had had the time to think of his pureblood friend's words, he added softly, "That's how it should be, how I always wanted my relationships to be as well. Nobody comes out on top, and nobody stands at the bottom. Anything else only leads to heartache."

"Of course," Draco added quietly, not looking up.

And for once, Harry wished with a vengeance, that things between him and Draco could be different. Because of this … this deferential behaviour, when the blond was tired … it felt just so wrong!

\--O-O--

After a good night's sleep, since, "You will tell me, Kreacher! As soon as Draco has even a hint of a nightmare, you will come and get me!"

"Yes, Master."

Both young wizards set at the kitchen table, Harry starring listlessly into his coffee, while Draco had spread his notes beside his breakfast, scribbling all over them.

"Good morning, sunshines," Ron boomed, falling onto the bench, reaching for the tea.

Raising his eyebrows, Draco inquired, "What has you in such a good mood, Weasley?"

"Well," the redhead grinned lecherously, helping himself to some toast and jam. "Let's just say Rose slept in for once and Hermione and I made good use of our time."

Whimpering pitifully, Harry covered his ears, repeating a mantra, "Lady Magic, Lady Magic, Lady Magic!"

"Congratulations, Weasley, now you've broken him," Draco accused. "What, by Merlin, is he talking about?"

"Harry prefers to believe, that our lovely daughter came into being by a burst of magic, rather than intercourse. Though Hermione says, it ought to be the stork."

"What does an avian have to do with anything?"

Pulling Draco's notes closer, Ron shook his head, "No clue."

\--O-O--

No matter how good Ron had become at brewing, Draco was still better, understanding potions on a level far surpassing his. Therefore, the redhead had no qualms doing the 'menial' tasks of cutting, dicing and grinding. In the beginning, the blond had been surprised, but his inquiry was met with but a shrug. "We all have a vested interest for this to work. You are our best chance, so I'll do whatever I can to support you. Just like I do with my brother."

For a moment, Draco could only stare. To always be second best, never stand in the limelight and excel at anything, was unimaginable for him. But then he remembered their night in the tent. How Hermione had despaired when Ron had been gone. How Harry had clawed at his best friend's shirt during their three-way hug. Maybe Ron had it better, not wanting attention from the world at large, just being happy for being the most important person for his two best friends. Still, Draco could not imagine ever being content that way. Though he had to admit to himself that nobody had ever looked at him the way Hermione Granger looked at her husband (and Harry Potter at his best friend) since the age of eleven.

"How much longer? " Harry inquired at their backs when they had a brief pause.

"Two more hours," Draco estimated. "The antidote doesn't have a long brewing time. It's just very … delicate."

"It's a bloody nightmare," Ron groused, cutting up a root with the precision of a surgeon. "One stir into the wrong direction or thirty seconds too long on simmer and we are back at the beginning."

"Fortunately," the blond added, watching the timer he had set with hawk's eyes. "The venom is the last component."

"Do you need more?"

"No. One drop is enough. But it has to be untainted."

Nodding, Harry looked around, only to panic after a moment. "The vial. Where is it?"

With a snort, Ron offered his ingredient, before gesturing at the bookshelf. "His little she-devil tried to play catch with it. Luckily, our Potion Master here charmed it indestructible."

"Inari!" Harry growled, only to have Draco cut him off.

"No use in berating her. That was hours ago, and I already punished her for it."

"You punished her?"

"Yes, I locked her out for thirty minutes."

Surprised at the undoubtedly effective, but overly simple punishment, the raven-haired inquired, "And where is she now?"

"Hiding under the sofa," Ron chuckled. "I think she assumes that, if Draco can't see her, he can't evict her."

"As if I would," the potioneer mumbled, handing over a few shells, "Grind these to a fine powder, while I cut up the meat."

Aware that he would only be in the way, Harry confirmed, "So, you should be ready around four."

"Yea, mate, better get them."

"Get who?" Draco called after Harry, only to have Ron reply solemnly, "The Witches."

\--O-O--

'Thank god it's Sunday,' or so Harry thought, pacing the length of his living room. The women he needed would be hard pressed to make time for them during the week. Since it was nearly four, he expected them at any moment. An exasperated voice startled him out of his musings.

"Harry James Potter, if you don't sit down this second, I swear I will put you in a body-binder!"

From where she lay on his couch, ham and cheese muffins clearly not agreeing with her, Hermione brandished her wand threateningly.

Without consulting his brain, his body decided that sitting was an excellent idea. Clearly, his best friend had him well trained. When the floo flared up, however, he was on his feet in an instant. "Headmistress. Madame Pomfrey. Thank you for coming."

For a moment, the two elderly witches studied their former pupils, until McGonagall tilted her head, "Mrs Granger, Mr Potter, very well, lead the way."

\--O-O--

Draco paled when he saw who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He was more than surprised when Professor McGonagall offered a small smile and stated, "Of course it had to be you, Mr Malfoy."

Uneasy, Draco looked around, "Forgive me, Professor, but what are you implying?"

Looking over the rim of her spectacles, making him feel like he was all but eleven again, the headmistress explained, "Who, but Severus' godson would ever have a chance of deciphering his journals. If anybody had an opportunity to succeed in curing him, it had to be you."

Blushing, the blond lowered his eyes and was spared further scrutiny, when Ron barraged past him.

"Headmistress, Madam Pomfrey, good to see you."

"Yes, yes, so good to see all of you," the Hogwarts matron interrupted impatiently. "I would like to see my patient now. _Before_ you force any experimental potions down his throat!"

" _Your_ patient?" The medi-witch, who had been responsible for Severus Snape's care for the last four years, asked from behind.

"He has been mine to treat for more than ten years, I have you know." Poppy stated, glancing at the woman who stood in the door of Snape's room.

"And mine for the last four," Emilia replied.

Approaching her cousin, Poppy broke out in a broad smile. "Then let us make sure he is of good health before we allow them to experiment on him."

"After you, my dear," Emilia invited, opening the door all the way.

Once the two witches had vanished, Ron croaked, "Does anybody else have the feeling that our lives might be in danger if we mess this up?"

His year-mates nodded reluctantly. Only the headmistress seemed exceedingly calm. "In that case, I suggest you make sure that you don't, gentlemen. "

"Yes, Professor," was the weak reply, before the young witch and wizards followed her into Snape's room.

\--O-O--

"Warden of the North, guardian of the mind, hear us!" McGonagall started, holding out her hands, from where she stood at the head of Snape's bed, that had been shoved into the middle of the room.

"Warden of the West, guardian of the body, guide us!" Ron spoke, clasping the elderly witch's hand, offering his own.

"Warden of the East, guardian of the soul, help us!" Hermione requested, mirroring her husband.

"Warden of the South, guardian of the heart, protect us!" Harry finished, closing the circle.

All four shuddered when the magic coursed through them, connecting them to their patient, elevating him from his bed. When they intoned the reversal of the ritual, they had used five years ago, Poppy prompted Draco to slip underneath their fastened hands and approach their patient. The moment Snape opened his eyes, his godson poured the antivenom down his throat. Fortunately, the Potion Master swallowed on instinct.

\--O-O--

What was that nefarious noise? It sounded like a tortured animal.

Vibrating in his own skin, Severus Snape needed a few moments to realise that **he** was the one making it. Yet before he could try and stop himself, panic raced through his system. The Shack. Voldemort. Nagini! … It all came back to him. By Merlin, he was dying!

Why wouldn't anybody help him? He reached out, screamed for help, but neither his voice, nor his body seemed to obey his commands. Thrashing helplessly, he felt like a fish out of water.

Silver eyes … beautiful silver eyes appeared before him. But no matter how much he tried to communicate, he felt like he was running against a wall. That was Draco, he recognised, his godson. Why wouldn't he let him in?

Suddenly, his head was turned by a gentle hand, and green eyes met his. Kind, loving eyes … Lily's! Fingers brushed over his cheeks, wiped away tears he had not realised he had spilt. "It's okay, Sir. Everything is fine, you are safe now. It's over." A gentle male voice assured him over and over … not Lily then … her son.

But the boy had to understand. He needed the antidote, or Nagini's bite would kill him any minute now. Severus could already feel the weakness weighing his body down. He tried to reach out again, desperate and afraid. Yet instead of the expected wall, he was met with acceptance. A mind that easily yielded to his intrusion. No, not yielded, welcomed him in. Wasn't the boy an Auror? Why didn't he have any shields? But it did not matter now. He was hurt, poisoned … and he needed …

"Accio Antidote!" Harry's voice echoed through the room.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Draco hissed from his right.

A black vial appeared in his line of sight. Yes! This was it! Exactly what he needed! But his arms would not obey him. Frantic, he tried to reach out, drowning in fear again.

Then the open vial was put to his lips, and a bitter taste flooded his mouth. Something that had been there already. But that did not make any sense. He had only ever brewed one dose …

Severus wanted to look around. To ask what was going on. But he couldn't. What was happening to him?

Draco was here. Lily's son as well. Did that mean that the boy had changed sides? Yielded in the final battle to save his family and friends? Had he himself been captured? Was he about to be tortured? Where was his wand? He needed his wand! Otherwise, he would be completely defenceless.

People spoke up around him. But their words did not make sense. Why was there this horrible, loud noise again?

Make it stop.

**Please, make it stop!**

"Alright, this is enough. Out! All of you!" A stern, somewhat familiar voice ordered.

Severus wanted to cry when he recognised the speaker. Poppy was here! So, not all was lost. Her stern, brown eyes appeared in his line of vision, and a whispered spell later he lost consciousness.

But … didn't Poppy Pomfrey have blue eyes …?

\--O-O--

"We must have done something wrong." Harry despaired, running his hands through his hair, over and over. "We must have hurt him somehow. Have you heard him? He was …"

"Mister Potter, sit down!" McGonagall commanded sternly, massaging her temples while watching him.

As with Hermione before, Harry's backside instantly hit the armchair he had just passed. Still, he looked around anxiously.

His best friend, however, always the logical one, explained patiently, "Harry, Professor Snape's last memory was of the boathouse … dying. I think anybody would lose their composure after such an experience."

"But he's fine now, isn't he?" The raven-haired asked anxiously, latching on to his blond potioneer. "He'll be alright …"

"I can't believe we had the antidote all along," Draco mumbled, ignoring the question.

"Draco!"

"Don't you get it, Potter?" The other wizard snapped. "We could have woken him the day after Halloween! When you brought all of his stuff."

"Right," Ron snorted. "Because simply pouring potions down his throat would be such an excellent idea."

"What do you mean?"

Relaxing into the sofa, pulling his wife close, the redhead sneered. "Even in first year, we were smart enough not to drink anything we could not identify without the shadow of a doubt."

Shaking his head, the blond gestured towards his companion, "But Harry just accioed it!"

"No, I didn't," the young Auror admitted. "Snape did."

Glaring, Draco mocked, "Yea, sure!"

"He did!" Harry insisted, "He was obviously terrified and needed to tell us something. You are occluding pretty much 24/7. So, I let him in. His intent was the one behind the spell. I was only lending him my voice."

"I'm doing what?"

"Shielding your mind, every day of the week, … all day long," Hermione explained, nibbling on a biscuit.

"Of course, I am. Otherwise, …" Draco began, but then interrupted himself. "Oh, … I didn't think of that."

They sat in silence for a while, until Harry whispered, looking at the ceiling. "What do you think are Poppy and Emilia doing up there?"

"Their job," McGonagall informed them. "And since Severus seems to be in the best hands imaginable, I will take my leave. Supper is in half an hour, and I fear for my castle if I am not there to supervise since both Filius and Septima took the weekend off."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall," her former pupils chorused.

With a smile, she tilted her head. "You are welcome," and added after a moment, "You all did excellent work. I am very proud of you."

\--O-O--

"Back with us again, Severus?"

Poppy's kind, blue eyes met Snape's black ones. How could he have ever thought them brown?

"You need blood replenishing potions, nutritious potions and maybe a muscle strengthener."

A warm chuckle drew his attention, and in a Herculean effort, Severus managed to turn his head. The witch who stood on the right side of his bed was unknown to him. Yet, she felt somewhat familiar. Especially her voice, when she berated softly, "What he needs, Poppy, is for you to give him a moment. The man was in a coma for five years. Everybody would need time after that."

He was equally grateful and embarrassed to notice that the medi-witch seemed to have stepped around the bed, appearing behind the other woman. Snape felt ashamed because obviously, Poppy had seen his weakness, that even a simple task as turning his head needed nearly more strength than he had. At the same time, he was grateful, since that way he could keep an eye on both. Still, he was surprised to hear the usually so stern witch give in, "You are right, of course. But in my defence, if you show even the slightest bit of leniency with teenagers, they walk all over you!"

"Our professor Snape is hardly a teenager."

Emilia Nightingale! A brilliant Potion student six years his senior. She had attended her seventh year as a Hufflepuff the year he had been sorted into Slytherin. She had spent nearly as much time in the library as him, but not for lack of friends, but the desire to exceed all expectations in her Herbology and Potion's NEWTs. She had indeed set a record, one that had been broken only by him for Potions … maybe by Longbottom in Herbology, if the boy had survived the final battle. He was pulled out of his musings, by the vaguely familiar tone.

"Alright, let's see how you are doing." Fingers entwined with his own, warm, gentle fingers, and for a moment, Snape was overcome with emotions, because he could not even remember the last time someone had touched him just for the sake of it. There had been Potter, of course, but his touch had been painful, only there to save his life. Well, he should not be ungrateful. It had worked, obviously.

"Can you squeeze my hand?"

He tried, he really did, if only so she would not let go. But all he could do was produce a faint spasm. Panic set in again, but before he could get worked up, Poppy eased him. "It's alright, Severus. Just stay calm! Though you are physically fine, as far as we can tell, your body has to build up its strength again. That's perfectly normal. You were in a coma for five years. You need time to adjust."

"Let us try something else, okay? Can you blink your eyes?"

Gazing into warm, brown orbs, Severus blinked deliberately; three times.

"Excellent!" Emilia beamed, squeezing his hand encouraging. "Blink once for 'No' and twice for 'Yes'. Can you do that for me?"

_Yes._

"Great!"

Infected by the other witch's exuberance, Poppy chuckled, but then shared. "Since everything seems to be as good as can be expected, I'll depart now. I will come back tomorrow, sometime before lunch, bar any emergencies at Hogwarts."

Hogwarts … so the school was still in session. A weight he had not known he had carried, was now lifted from his shoulders. No matter the outcome. The castle was still standing, and Poppy was still in charge of the infirmary. In a way, it felt enough. Exhaustion washed over him, and though he wished differently, his hand slipped from Emilia's fingers. He tried to force himself to stay awake, but the witch's comforting words soothed him, when she promised, "You can go to sleep now. We will be here in the morning."

Interpreting the grateful look in his eyes correctly, she brushed a dark strand of hair out of his face and tilted her head. "You are welcome."

Slowly drifting into sleep, Severus wondered why the gesture had felt so right and so wrong at the same time.

\--O-O--

"He is sleeping," Poppy informed the young witch and wizards in the living room.

Giving voice to their collective concerns, Harry asked, "Is he going to be okay?"

"That, Mr Potter, remains to be seen. But I think it is safe to say, that our Potion's Master is finally on the way to recovery, thanks to all of you."

\--O-O--

The nefarious noise was back, and someone was shaking him. He wanted it to stop. The pain. The noise. The confusion. Severus felt like a lead-weight was sitting on his chest, and when he finally managed to pry his eyes open, enormous green eyes were looking at him. But those were the wrong eyes. Where was Lily? A sob silenced the noise and reality came crashing down. Lily was dead. His attempt to barter for a better position in the Dark Lord's inner circle had cost her, her life. The only thing that remained was her son, who was now leaning over Severus and attempted to soothe him.

"It's alright, Sir. Everything is alright. You are safe now. Tom is dead. Voldemort, I mean. It's over."

When the panic receded a little, so did Harry. But that was the opposite of what Severus wanted. He could not be alone again or go to sleep. He was weak, and his occlumency shields were virtually non-existent. He had been reduced to this pathetically whimpering creature, that used its last strength to reach out to his best friend's son in the pitiful attempt not to be abandoned. Regrettably, his strength was barely enough to make his fingers twitch towards the young wizard. And Harry was misinterpreting the gesture entirely.

"Oh, wait. Ahm …" tousling his sleep-mussed hair, Harry stammered, "I have to … please, don't hex me for this … I …" he then reached carefully under Severus' pillow and pulled out his wand. "Ron discovered it in the boathouse and kept it for you."

Then a warm hand surrounded his own, and his 14" yew wand was put in it. It felt like … coming home. Like regaining something. An absence, Snape had felt most acutely, finally lifted. He barely had the strength to close his fingers around the artistically engraved handle. But Harry was helping, and Severus felt oh so grateful for the simple gesture. When he opened his mouth to convey his gratitude, a mere croak came out. Humiliated, his cheeks burned up. He felt even worse when the boy chuckled. But instead of finally taking the chance to belittle him, to pay him back for all the cruelties and hardships Snape had forced on him at Hogwarts, Harry ordered softly, "Emerald, I think the professor and I would benefit from a pot of tea."

Snape was surprised to see the beaming smile the house elf - who somehow still sat on his bed - gave her master, before climbing into Harry's arms, who then sat her on the floor. "Oh, and you should be really quiet … shhh … we don't want to wake Kreacher or Draco. Right?"

Nodding gravely, she flapped her ears and promised in a high-pitched whisper, "Emerald is a mouse, Sir-Harry-Master. Makes white-flower tea. No noise. Promise!"

After watching the little elf sneak out the door, Severus noticed that the young wizard had claimed a spot on his mattress. Having apparently seen his attempts to reach out, Harry tentatively reached for Severus' hand. After a heartbeat, where he seemed indecisive if he was allowed the contact, he mumbled embarrassed, "Or, maybe I should not sit here. I can take the armchair!" Hesitant, he pulled back.

One blink and a barely-there clenching of his fingers.

"Or, … ahm, … I could stay here?"

Two blinks. Another weak squeeze.

"Are your eyes alright, Sir?"

Two blinks.

"Maybe I should call for Emilia …?"

One blink, but no squeeze, since Severus had no strength left.

"Or not …," Harry pondered, scrutinising him.

Two blinks.

After a few heartbeats, he suggested, "I can change the colour of your night clothes to a hot pink colour, to brighten your complexion. Would you like that, Sir?"

One blink and what the older wizard hoped to be a death glare.

With a chuckle, Harry concluded. "One blink is 'No'; two mean 'Yes'."

_Yes._

Relieved, the young man's shoulders sagged, and he inquired. "How do you feel?"

An eye roll.

"Right, sorry. Yes or No questions only. Fine, let's try this one: Are you in pain?"

Taking his time to analyse his body, Severus blinked _No_. He was not overly comfortable, but he had known pain in his life. What he was feeling now, was mild irritation at best.

"Good," Harry exhaled relieved. Then he pondered, "Did Emilia bring you up to speed? Do you know, where you are?"

_No_

"Alright, …" the boy, no, young man dragged out, clearly unsure where to begin. Severus was just contemplating if he had the strength for a comforting gesture when Harry started. "It's January the second … no, by now third, 2004." He had lost nearly six years of his life. Well, considering that he had been close to losing his life altogether, Severus ought to consider himself lucky. Funny, though, it did not feel that way.

"Hermione, … she … that night in the boat shack, she cast a stasis charm on you. Poppy said that saved your life. I … we did not know how to help you. So, the three of us, with the help of Professor … Headmistress McGonagall put you in a magically induced coma and started searching for an antidote to Nagini's poison."

What?

Apparently able to read his patient's face, Harry chuckled. "Yes, … I know, stupid! But we had no chance of knowing that you've already made one. You really should consider labelling your potions, Sir. Anyway, long story short, we needed more than four years to finally find someone who had even the remotest chance of helping you. But once we have enlisted his help, he needed but a few short months to brew the antidote."

Another frown.

Another smile. This one could be called nearly tender, when the raven-haired shared, "It was Draco. Once he had access to a proper lab, he needed barely more than a week to come up with the potion. You can be very proud of your godson. He was amazing."

The silver-grey eyes. Severus recalled them now. But there was more to it than Draco simply 'having access' to a proper lab again.

'I'll try to come back tomorrow, and you can help me plan the lab.' Had he somehow been involved in the planning process? But that did not make any sense, as he had been in a coma. Someone had been concerned about poisons and love potions. The question was: who?

Severus felt like his head was filled with wool, and he could not fight the exhaustion that pulled him under, despite hating the idea of returning to sleep. He relaxed somewhat, when a soft voice promised, "Don't worry, I'll stay and wake you, should you have another nightmare."

It seemed there would be no tea for either of them tonight.

\--O-O--

The next morning found Harry, once again, curled up on Snape's bed. The man's hand lay gently on his head. Infinitely grateful that their patient was still fast asleep - a magical induced coma seemed to be tiring business - the young wizard tiptoed out of the room, closing the door after himself ever so gently, before running head-first into Draco.

"Ow."

"Ow, indeed, Potter. Is he alright?" The blond mirrored the other's gesture of rubbing his forehead.

"He was having a nightmare. Emerald tried to help, but he only woke when I shook him."

Confused, Draco pondered, "I did not hear anything. Did you have the elf fetch you?"

With a yawn, Harry shrugged, "You've never heard me either. I cast silencing charms most nights."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to disturb my guests."

"I'm hardly a guest," the blond snapped.

"No," Another yawn. "But I wove parsel-charms into the fabrics of the entire floor, activated on but a word. It would be pretty hard to remove them, and I've made a habit out of it."

Narrowing his eyes, the other wizard stated, "We are not done talking about this!"

"Whatever." The raven-haired shrugged. "I have to go in today. Do you think you can manage?"

"Contrary to popular opinion, I am absolutely capable of taking care of someone else!" Turning towards his godfather's room, he added, "Oh, and order some baked tomatoes for breakfast. I have a craving."

Chuckling, Harry indicated a bow. "As you wish, your highness."

Really, it was no surprise that the Malfoys had enjoyed their white peacocks so much. The men of the family showed a remarkable resemblance to these birds on occasion.

Emilia brought them up to speed during breakfast, about what to expect from a former coma-patient. It seemed that their problems were all but beginning, with Snape opening his eyes. For now, he needed to be brought up to speed on what he had missed. Yet, at the same time, the medi-witch cautioned them against overwhelming him. Small and most of all selective doses of reality were to be laid out in front of him. Nothing too exciting. Nothing that would elicit too strong of a reaction.

"So, Lucius …" Harry pondered.

"Out of the question!" Draco decided. "The last thing Severus might remember about father might be him losing the favour of the Dark Lord. But him being bound to you, serving you devotedly might be a bit of a stretch. Best not to talk about him."

"Say it!" The master of the house demanded.

"What?" Looking up, the other wizard tensed perceptibly at the harshness of Harry's tone.

"You know what, Draco. My house, my rules. Now say the name!"

"Voldemort," the blond whispered.

"Again."

"Voldemort," the former Death Eater growled." Voldemort. Voldemort. Tom Marvolo Riddle, the bastard who must not be named, alright. I get it!"

Gently squeezing his arm, the 'Chosen One' assured him. "He's dead and gone and has no power over us any longer."

Clenching his butter-knife for a moment, Draco nodded. "I'm aware. It's just … all this brings up a lot of bad memories."

"I know," Harry sighed, before looking at the clock. "Why don't you and Emilia come up with a list of topics that are safe to discuss. We will check off everything we have talked about, so he is not overwhelmed or receives the same information twice and hexes us for boring him."

With an absent-minded smile, Draco agreed, and Harry departed for the Ministry.

"We can talk about it, if you want," Emilia injected kindly after she had observed the blond for a few moments. "I am not a fully certified mind-healer, but everything you want to get off your chest would be protected by patient-healer-confidentiality."

"Only, I'm not your patient. Severus is."

"Mr Malfoy, I am just making an offer. I would even let you pay me," she winked. "Excellent pioneers like yourself are hard to come by."

Surprised, Draco asked, "What makes you think that I am any good?"

With an indulgent smile, the witch revealed, "Harry gave the patient, someone he has cared for the last five years, something you brewed without even testing it before. I think you are the best there is."

Wistfully, the blond shared, "I wanted to study it, you know. I wanted to excel in potions to become a healer, one day. After everything we have done, everything my father did, the thought of following in his footsteps, managing and increasing the Malfoy fortune day in and day out, held little appeal to me. Somehow, some way, I wanted to try and make amends, to really make a difference by _helping_ people. But then we were convicted and put under house arrest … it beats being locked up in Azkaban any time, but who would want to be looked after by a former Death Eater?"

"Harry Potter."

"Yea," Draco sneered, shaking his head. "Somehow, Potter is the exception to every rule."

Sipping from her tea, as if they were discussing the weather, the medi-witch inquired, "And what if it were not about making amends? What would you want to do if the world would not care?"

"Potions," the wizard admitted. "Even when I was little, I wanted to be like my godfather, with the billowing cloaks and the colourful vials. You should have seen him. When he was brewing, he had his own kind of magic, that needed neither wand nor incantation. Watching Severus Snape brew was like watching an artist creating a masterpiece, ultimately captivating. And no matter what he attempted, how simple or difficult the recipe, in the end, you knew that it would be perfect, because he would never, ever accept anything less. Not of others but most certainly not of himself."

With a gentle smile, Emilia pushed back her chair and encouraged, "In that case, let us go and make sure that he reaches that point again. It will be hard work, but I am sure with your and Harry's help, we will be able to get him back to his cauldrons."

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tears rose in Hermione's eyes, as she whispered, "Have you ever considered that he simply does not want to live this way? Think about his situation. He was always self-reliant, navigating the demands of Dumbledore while pulling the wool over Tom's eyes. He was ready to die in the war, maybe even hoped for it, for the chance to see your mum again. But now he is lying in that bed, unable to walk, to talk, to use magic. He is dependent on others for the simplest things. For a man like Severus Snape, that must be torture."


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four days into his recovery, his mind finally made the connection: What was Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater doing in Harry Potter's home? And it was clear that he was not around to visit on Severus' behalf, since he barged into his quarters every hour of every day, in various states of dressing. Once he had even en-tered in his pyjamas, shouldering Potter aside, who had woken him from his latest nightmare, pouring dreamless sleep down his throat. The former spy had not been able to puzzle out the relationship between the two, too grateful to get at least a few hours of undisturbed rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting a little early this weekend, since I'm currently wrapped up in another story, that simply won't let me go. And since I didn't want to forget about you, I'm posting on Friday, so you all can enjoy Snape being his grumpy self, and me not neglecting my duties to my cherished readers :). I wish all of you a brilliant weekend.

"Someone is in an excellent mood this morning," Neville commented as his partner entered their office, with a tray of Starbucks and an assortment of breakfast items, both savoury and sweet.

"Well," Harry grinned. "Last night, we … darn." Aware that he could not disclose anything without Snape' permission, he deflated.

Sorting through the available choices, Neville claimed the breakfast croissant Harry usually kept for himself. After watching his partner fiddle with their drinks, he snatched the blueberry muffin as well, before letting him off the hook. "It's okay, Harry. You'll tell me when the time is right."

"Thank you," the other Auror sagged, offering the pain-au-chocolate, his friend usually fancied.

"No, thanks, I'm good."

Then they enjoyed a companionable breakfast. For once, luck seemed to be on their side, since Robarts only stormed their office after they had finished.

A vast amount of stolen goods not being life-threatening, they even made it home in time for dinner.

\--O-O--

"How is he?" Was the first question out of Harry's mouth, when he stepped out of the floo.

"As can be expected, considering the circumstances," Emilia shared while serving herself a cup of tea. "He slept about thirteen hours so far; suffered from nightmares. His mind is still not up to par, to deal with the situation. Our young Mr Malfoy came up with a spreadsheet of topics best to avoid."

Nodding, the young wizard accepted a mug of tea, valiantly suppressing a shudder when he identified the herbal mixture the witch preferred. "Where is Draco?"

"Brewing."

"What is he brewing?"

"Muscle Relaxants. Muscle Strengthening Potions. Nourishment Potions. Healing Draughts. Anti-Nausea Potions. Basically, anything his godfather could even remotely need."

With a sigh, Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Kreacher?"

"Master," the elf bowed deeply.

"Has he eaten?"

"No, Master."

"What about tea?"

Glimpsing at the elven-child that was peeking out from under the table, Kreacher revealed somewhat hesitant. "Emerald has served tea. Possibly with too much cream and sugar."

"And?" Knowing that tone, the raven-haired tried very hard not to smile.

"There might have been some nutrition potion left in the pot," the elf admitted while studying the floor. Harry was aware that there were rules against elves using potions without explicit orders. Hence, as his master, Harry had to punish Kreacher for allowing that. Though Emerald had been the executing house-elf of this miss-deed, both Harry and Kreacher knew that the young wizard would never punish a child. However, as her 'guardian' Kreacher was held responsible. "The play-room, with Emerald, for an entire hour. But only after you've served dinner."

With a long-suffering sigh, Kreacher bowed so deep, his nose touched the floor. "Yes, Master, thank you, Sir."

"Off you go."

"What's in the play-room?" Emilia inquired. "Or don't I want to know?"

Laughing, Harry put down his half-empty cup. "A collection of self-reading children's books, that must have belonged to Sirius or Regulus once upon a time."

"Listening to stories is a punishment?"

"Well," the young wizard grinned, "since Emerald usually has a favourite and prefers to listen to it over and over, I would say, Yes."

"How often?"

"As often as we let her," the wizard chuckled. "This week's favourite is Rabbity Babbity from The Tales of Beetle the Bard. At breakfast, he told me that he heard it four times already."

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"It's Monday."

Grinning, the young Auror nodded. "I know."

\--O-O--

Allowing himself a glimpse into Severus' bedroom, Harry felt the anxiety he had carried all day fall from his shoulders. His former potions professor slept deeply and restfully. The difference between the wizard resting now, compared to two days ago, where the somewhat irregular breaths, intercepted by a subtle twitch of his muscles. Harry wondered if he had a nightmare again, but decided that it could not be helped, even if that was the case. Some things just needed time and the mind always healed at its own pace.

At least that was what the mind-healer every Auror was expected to see once per month had said. Harry even liked Charles Young, though his questions were pretty invasive, he always gave the young Auror the feeling that he was on his side, as eager to put him to work again, as Harry was to return to it. Also, he was the only person at the office he accepted a 'temporary leave' from, convinced that it was in his best interest. It had happened only once, until now, but afterwards, Harry had to admit, that he _had_ felt better after taking some time off. Their daily talks had helped him to accept the inevitable, in a way he had never thought possible after the death of his second partner. Intellectually, the young Auror had known that his partner's death had never been his fault, the wizard had not waited for him to be there, had charged in without backup, but emotionally …

Harry had barely eaten, slept very little and had buried himself in his work until Young had put a stop to it. They had needed four sessions of near constant fighting for Harry to open up to the older man. During their fifth meeting, they had entered an epic screaming match, where the mind-healer had called him stubborn, emotionally suppressed _and_ arrogant to his face. In retrospect, Charles had sounded a lot like Severus Snape that day. Maybe that had been the deciding factor for Harry to finally break. From all the people in the Auror Corps, aside from Robarts, Young had been the only one who had not treated him as if he were someone special, entitled to certain privileges, simply because he was fate's favourite toy.

Maybe, Harry thought, he should introduce the two wizards at one point, since he seriously doubted that Snape would come out of his coma - and even more his role in the war - unscattered. Still, his talks … monologues really … with their residing 'dungeon bat' had always comforted him more than the obligatory sessions with the mind healer. Now, however, Harry was not sure if he was allowed to have them any longer. Maybe Snape would hate him if he came to his senses. Perhaps he would be grateful. Yet if the young wizard was honest with himself, he did not want to enter a conversation his opposite only entertained out of gratitude. Listening to the clock chime, Harry decided that there was nothing he could do about it for now. So, he gently closed the door again and made his way up to the attic.

\--O-O--

"The chicken in wine sauce, with the little potatoes you like is overcooking."

"I'll be down in a minute," Draco promised absent-minded while cross-checking two journals he had spread out over his work-table.

Reaching out for the blond, Harry flinched back, when the other wizard startled violently. "Hey," he soothed, "it's okay. What's wrong, Draco?"

"Nothing," the blond tried to deflect but pointing at several vials that were neatly laid out on his desk. "I made some muscle strengthening and nutritious potions. But I'm running low on acai seeds and a few other things."

Studying the pureblood who looked dead on his feet, the young Auror sighed. "Tell me you don't want to talk about it. Hell, tell me it's none of my business, though, with the oath, we know that it is. But don't lie to me, Draco. And after everything we have been through, I think I deserve better."

Closing his eyes in defeat, the former Death Eater shook his head. "What if I go about this all wrong? What if my potions aren't good enough? Uncle Sev had written his life away when he was barely older than me when took the mark. You are the only one, who has ever worked to give him a fair chance. What if I can't live up to that?"

"Draco," Harry sighed, gently touching the other's wrist, rubbing soothingly over the pulse points. "That is not on you."

"But," gesturing half-heartedly at the potion's equipment, he pointed out, "what's the point of all of this, if not to help him?"

"The point," the raven-haired emphasised, "was you brewing the antidote."

"But he's already done that."

"We did not know that. And that does not lessen your contribution to Severus' recovery."

"So, I don't have to brew anymore?"

"No, you don't."

"But then … what should I do?" Draco asked helplessly. "I swore an oath of servitude. Uncle Sev is awake. Your library is in order, and you don't want me to brew. What else am I good for?"

"Draco … whoa, stop right there!" Finally understanding the problem, Harry shook his head. "I can find a hundred tasks for you if that's what it takes to uphold the conditions of the oath. Lucius isn't around 24/7 either, and he's bound to me under much stricter conditions than you. Also, who said anything about me not _wanting_ you to brew?"

"But you …"

Gently, Harry recalled, "I said you did not have to. Not that you can't. True, I gave you this lab in the hope that you might succeed in brewing a particular potion. But don't you think this is a little over the top for just one task? You said you liked potions. I was hoping that you would get more use out of it."

Smiling a little, it really did wonders for his grey complexion, his 'servant' asked, "So I can brew anything I want?"

"Basically."

"What if I want to make some puking pastries?"

Raising his eyebrows, Harry all but shrugged after a moment. "If that's what you want?"

Closing his journal, as well as Severus', Draco replied haughtily. "I think I can do better than a ten-year-old Weasley-recipe."

Chuckling, Harry followed when the blond turned to leave. "If you say so."

"I do! By the way, I am starving. When will dinner be ready?"

"I think the potatoes already are, and the chicken in wine-sauce will be in a few minutes."

"Coq au vin, with Pomme de Terre. Honestly, it's not that hard to remember." Turning towards the wizard he had bound himself to, Draco offered a small and grateful smile as he insulted, "Plebeian."

\--O-O--

Five hellish days had passed, and things got worse instead of better. Severus still could not form words, exceeding one syllable abbreviations. The disgustingly persistent medi-witch, however, insisted persistently that he was doing great.

He could not see it. At night, his sleep was disturbed by nightmares. Of Voldemort killing him. Him seeing Death Eaters torturing innocent muggleborns. Being forced to watch Charity Burbage being murdered before his very eyes. But those were not even the most agonising memories that plagued him.

That place of 'honour' was reserved for one particular dream. Walking into the carnage of the Potter's home, he felt hollow and as a spectator in his own body. Climbing over the body of a hated rival, he felt nothing. Watching the door to the nursery being blast open, regret rose in his heart. Then he was forced to watch his beloved Lily shielding her baby, before hearing the cruel words 'Avada Kedavra'. Seeing the light vanishing from her eyes, however, was not the worst part. The worst part, was an adult Harry Potter rising from the floor after he had caught the collapsing form of his dead mother. Fire burning in his green eyes, he stepped up to Severus, shouting at his face, "You killed her. It was all your fault." Then, cold, and uncharacteristically detached, he demanded, "Finish it!" Severus knew Lily's son to be right, it was all on him. Severus wanted to change the past, longed for it with his entire being, but he could not. When he looked down, he saw his own hand holding the wand, heard his own voice whispering the incantation, 'Avada Kedavra'. Then the boy's body fell down, right beside his mother, as if he had been but a puppet, whose strings Severus had cut.

Severus had woken screaming the first time he had suffered that dream. And Harry Potter of all people had been there to comfort him. He had clung to the boy like a pathetic limpet, beyond grateful that the wizard had chosen his bed as a resting place for the remainder of that night. Severus had been mortified, when the memories of the night had come back to him. How could he have lost his composure so spectacularly? The composed, self-assured man he had thrived to become his entire life was gone.

Draco's arrival the next morning had been a blessing. At least with his godson, he knew where he stood. The boy had outlined the stasis ritual, without going into detail. He had shared Potter's decision of bringing him here, to Grimmauld Place, paying a professional medi-witch to take care of him. The young wizard had ensured his well-being in every way imaginable. Draco had revealed details of the last battle, how many they had lost on both sides. About the Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World becoming an Auror, displaying his 'Gryffindor heroics' - Draco's exact words - with disturbing regularity in the line of duty. He recounted the numerous dark wizards the young Auror had put into Azkaban. His godson spoke about many things, but Severus could not shake the feeling, that there was this Hippogriff in the room, the blond was determined to ignore. And since Severus' ability to speak was nearly non-existent, he could not even ask.

Four days into his recovery, his mind finally made the connection: What was Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater doing in Harry Potter's home? And it was clear that he was not around to visit on Severus' behalf, since he barged into his quarters every hour of every day, in various states of dressing. Once he had even entered in his pyjamas, shouldering Potter aside, who had woken him from his latest nightmare, pouring dreamless sleep down his throat. The former spy had not been able to puzzle out the relationship between the two, too grateful to get at least a few hours of undisturbed rest.

Today, however, bad had come to worst. As Emilia Nightingale had explained, his surviving on a few nutritious potions and nothing else had made caring for his body's needs quite easily. Now, however, he was given solid food again. And by solid, he meant whatever mush Kreacher could come up with. And by 'given' he meant being fed like an infant. True, the medi-witch was all quite matter-of-fact, regarding the whole business. Him refusing to eat, as long as his godson was present, had made her send Draco out on short notice. Still, he had not factored in the bowel movements regular food would cause. For now, the witch casting charms to … empty his body of all waste three times a day had been enough. But today, Severus had lost control, as Potter had been in the room to check up on him before work.

The Potion Master had been beyond mortified, noticing the exact moment the young wizard had realised what was going on. Yet, instead of retreating, he had approached the bed, apparently ready to deal with the situation. That, however, had been the last straw for the former spy. Since his meagre verbal attempts to dissuade Potter had been overlooked, he had clutched his wand tightly, throwing every last bit of power he had into a Legilimency spell, to share his displeasure. Severus Snape, formerly one of the best occlumens and legilimens at Hogwarts, had felt like running into a stone-wall. The pain had been so intense, that he had lost control over his bladder, as well. In a desperate attempt to protect the last of his dignity, he had started screaming at the boy, helplessly flapping his limbs to get him to leave.

Only when the door had closed, had the ugly truth of the situation finally caught up with Severus. Here he was, roaring like a mindless beast, lying in his own piss and shit, helpless to do anything about it. If this was his life now, to hell with it.

\--O-O--

Two Sundays later found Harry and Draco at the Burrow. Though both wizards felt not really comfortable to leave Snape to his own devices, the Weasley matriarch had insisted on them coming, so they had made the time. After all, a few hours where they did not hover at an unresponsive man's bedside would doubtfully make a difference. As soon as they arrived, Molly practically attacked them with her accustomed mama-bear-hugs.

"So good to see you, Harry, Draco. How are you my dears?"

"Fine, Mrs Weasley, thank you for asking."

"Lunch smells amazing, Molly. Can we help?"

"Of course not," Molly Weasley bustled. "Just go into the living-room. This Sunday it's only Lucius and Narcissa, and Hermione and Ron. And they are playing on that computer-thing again. It seems to be great fun."

With forced smiles on their faces, the two young wizards entered the living-room. And while Narcissa greeted them with an indulgent smile, Arthur merely called a greeting into their general direction, before they continued his and Lucius' battle on the computer screen. The platinum-blond, however, seemed a little more subdued. Respectfully he nodded in Harry's direction but clearly forced himself not to get up and greet his master properly. He knew that Harry considered the burrow his second home, not standing on formalities whenever he was here. Ron and Hermione, however, saw right through them. Allowing them to greet Draco's parents properly, they called out, "Come on, we have an idea for Inari's shack," guiding them behind the Burrow. The moment they were out of sight, Hermine pulled Draco into a comforting hug, while Ron did the same with their best friend.

"How is he?" She wanted to know.

"Nothing's changed," the blond sighed dejectedly.

Harry added with a defeated shrug, "He is not talking. Not eating. Barely sleeping. As far as we can tell. We tried everything except 'pick me up' potions, because Emilia said that their backlash is hard to cope with, even for a healthy person, let alone someone in Snape's position."

"Do you know what has caused it, yet?" Ron inquired, but both wizards shook their heads.

"Emilia says, the problem is not his body but his mind," Draco shared. "all of her diagnostic spells have come back negative. Even Mdm. Pomfrey has had a look at him. She can't find anything out of the ordinary either."

Messing up his hair, Harry sagged against the house, admitting quietly, "We thought about calling a mind-healer. We have a good one at work. But who could we trust with a secret as big as Severus Snape?"

"Have you …" Hermione started, but cut herself off after a moment.

"Have we what?" the blond pureblood demanded to know.

Trading a helpless look with her husband, who seemed as conflicted as her, the witch only continued after an encouraging nod from Harry. "Please, Hermione, if you have any ideas, tell us! We really are at the end of our tether."

Tears rose in the young witches' eyes, as she whispered, "Have you ever considered that he simply does not want to live this way? Think about his situation. He was always self-reliant, navigating the demands of Dumbledore while pulling the wool over Tom's eyes. He was ready to die in the war, maybe even hoped for it, for the chance to see your mum again. But now he is lying in that bed, unable to walk, to talk, to use magic. He is dependent on others for the simplest things. For a man like Severus Snape, that must be torture."

Aware that the 'brightest witch of their age' was most likely right, Draco sighed helplessly. "But what should we do? He won't get better if he is not actively working for it. And it has been three weeks, Hermione. Had Emilia not accepted Harry as Uncle Sev's legal guardian and continued to spell potions into his stomach, he would have starved to death by now."

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, leaning into Ron's hand on her back.

"Hermione has read every book on the market about coma patients Flourish and Blotts provides, and a few muggle ones as well. Basically, they all say the same," the redhead shared. "As long as he does not want to get better, he won't."

"So, what you are saying," Draco concluded, "is that Severus needs to be encouraged to work for his recovery. He needs hope that things _will_ get better, for that to happen."

That moment, Molly was calling them in for lunch, and while the others went eagerly, Harry followed a few steps behind. The Snape he had known did not do gentle encouragement and hopeful words. But maybe, the man who had defied Voldemort could do with a kick in the ass!

\--O-O--

Regrettably, before Harry got the chance to discuss his theory with Draco or Emily, he got called into work. Missing persons usually were not his metier. They had a department of Aurors especially educated to deal with those. But somehow, Kingsley had demanded him and Neville to join the investigation. When they entered the meeting room the team had been assigned, they both stopped dead the moment they recognised the latest victim: Madam Irma Pince.

"Where, …" Neville forced out from behind clenched teeth, "where was she abducted?"

"That's the thing," Alexander Pince, her nephew, stated, "From Hogwarts."

Neville and Harry whipped around, looking at their older colleague incredulously.

"Since the two of you are our latest additions with a … shall we say 'intimate' knowledge of the castle, we need you. You, in particular, Longbottom, since you managed to keep yourself and a whole bunch of students safe in your seventh year."

Trading a grim look with his partner, Neville nodded, "Alright, what do we have?"

It turned out that Irma Pince had been the fifth librarian that had been abducted since the beginning of December. The problem was, all victims had been kidnapped from their workplace with virtually no struggle. There was even a suspicion that Christopher Pendragon was missing from the Arthurian Library. But since the last guardian of Merlin's secrets only emerged once a year, they had no way of knowing, since the entrance to the library was usually sealed 360 days a year. Just the current head of the Ministry, with the backup of a member of the Crown, could make a request for immediate entrance. However, after discussing the situation with Mr Blayr, Kingsley and the current Prime Minister had decided that, for now, they did not want to bring the Windsors into it. Especially, since they have no proof either way.

Also, while the possible loss of Christopher Pendragon might be worrisome, the abduction of Irma Pince was personal for every wizard in the room. Everyone, who had been taught at Hogwarts, had needed the library of the castle. They all had been dependant on Mdm Pince's generous help with finding the right books for their studies. She had been a compassionate woman and a kind witch if you respected the sanctity of her books. They all knew that, without her, none of them would have passed their classes, least of all the Nasty Exhausting Wizarding Tests at the end of seventh year. In Neville's seventh year, she had even sneaked them books on Defence and simple household charms, to make their little hideout more welcoming. And lastly, during the battle, she had thrown curses and hexes around, none of them had ever thought of looking up. When a pair of Death Eaters had cornered a group of first years, she had turned their lungs inside out, with but a few strokes of her wand. Justin Flint-Fletchley, who had been tasked with getting the little ones out of the castle, had thrown up all over the floor. But after a stern demand from their librarian, he had managed to banish the corpses into the black lake so the children would not have to see them.

The problem now was that the Auror Corps had virtually nothing to go on.   
Missing were the guardians of the books of the Magical Library under Westminster Abbey.   
The Librarian of the University of Manchester (magical section).  
The curator of the British Museum (magical section as well) and, funny enough,   
the second librarian of the British Library; an institution that did not even have a magical section, as far as the Ministry was aware.

So, the guardian of the old religion.  
The one for modern medicine.  
One, who only dealt in artefacts.  
One who cared for virtually anything **but** magic.  
And finally, the witch who zealously guarded one of the most significant collections of magic tomes in Scotland.

Where was the connection?

\--O-O--

Since Lucius worked at the Department of Magical Law most days, as per Hermione's request, Harry was able to pick both of their brains two days later at lunch. "I mean, apart from their jobs, there is virtually no connection between them." Harry moaned. "They travelled in different circles, entertained different hobbies. Their interests did not overlap even a little. Which is a coincidence, in itself. But it does not help us!"

Unsure of how his vassal was fairing these days, the young Auror tried to pick up queues from his best friend. But either Lucius had not discussed their fallout with her, or she had already explained Harry's point, and the pureblood was finally on his way to getting where Harry was coming from since both Hermione and Lucius were acting pointedly normal. The former Lord seemed considerably more relaxed in the cafeteria of the Ministry than in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

"Which books are missing?" Lucius inquired, sensing a pattern.

After swallowing an unusually large bite, he was nearly out of time, since Neville wanted to visit Hogwarts this afternoon with Harry's map, of course, the young Auror sighed. "See, that's the thing, none as far as we can tell. Alexander Pince's team, they lead the investigation, went over the entire catalogue of the classified tomes available in each library and all are accounted for! They even went over the Restricted Section yesterday, but every book is where it should be."

"Alexander Pince? Is he related to Mdm Pince?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Yes, he's her nephew … twice removed or something like that."

"Isn't him leading the investigation a conflict of interest?" The witch pondered.

"A what?" Lucius inquired surprised. "Surely, he is even more interested in solving this case than he was ever before, now that a family member is missing,. I fail to see a conflict."

Frowning, Hermione explained, "Of course Mr Pince has a personal interest to find his aunt. What I am concerned about is, that this might conflict with his professional interest as an Auror to find all of the missing persons."

"I know what you mean, Hermione," Harry assured her, squeezing her hand for comfort. "But we are Aurors. In most cases we work, peoples' lives are at stake. And that makes every last case damn personal!" Pushing away his tray, Harry stood to leave, but his best friend held him back. He noticed the faraway look in her eyes that usually meant that her brain was in overdrive. Glancing at the watch, he decided that he could give her a few moments. With Hermione, it was usually worth it.

"You know the one thing librarians usually excel at, more than everybody else?" She asked after a minute.

Thinking about the question, Harry suggested, "Research?"

"Sometimes not the most dangerous book holds the knowledge to solve a problem," Lucius pondered, looking between the young witch and wizard.

A slow smile spread over Harry's face. "Like a summoning spell, that helps you to defeat a dragon." Hugging Hermine for a moment and squeezing his vassal's shoulder, the young Auror dashed towards the door. "Thank you. You two are the best!"

Returning to his meal, taking a measured bite, Lucius ignored Hermione's chuckled confirmation, "Well, I would say **that** was definitely a step in the right direction."

He did not need her encouragement; had only shared the details of his conflict with his liege, because she had cornered him a week into the new year when she was 'fed up with the kicked puppy look,' he had apparently been sporting whenever Harry Potter had been around. The discussion had been rather enlightening.

"What if I told you," Hermione had commented offhandedly during tea that day, "that I still don't trust you? That I am merely tolerating you because Harry asked me and that I feel the need to triple-check every information you give me since you were a death-eater and therefore not trustworthy."

Since it had been a quite intense day, on top of him still not being able to make any progress with his liege, Lucius had bristled and needed all his composure to keep from raising his voice. Angrily he had narrowed his eyes at her and hissed, "I would say that you are entirely unreasonable Mrs Granger. I have proven to you time and time again that I am a valuable asset to your cause, and that I am doing everything in my power to support you with your every-day work-life, as well as your cases. Nothing I have ever done, since working with you, warrants this level of distrust." Pushing back his chair, he had indicated a bow, clenching his fists to stay calm.

He had not at all understood the small smile that had lit up the young witch's faced when she had nodded. "As has Harry."

"Excuse me?" How had their topic turned around towards his liege all of a sudden? But then the former Lord went over what had just been said and had sunken back in his chair.

With barely suppressed amusement, Hermine had topped off his tea. "Do you wish for me to elaborate?"

Quietly, Lucius had shaken his head. "No, I … thank you."

Hence, he did not need her encouragement now. She had already done enough. Apart from that, he was a Malfoy. He had been brought up to be self-reliant. Yet, he found himself grateful, nevertheless, both for her original insight, as well as the reassurance today. Mute he tilted his head in gratitude, a gesture Hermione mirrored before they went back to discussing their own case.

\--O-O--

Bursting into the conference room the Auror Department had given their task force to work from, Harry asked out of breath, "What … what books are … missing?"

"None," Pince snapped. "Honestly, Potter, we have been over this. Do pay attention. This case is important!"

"No," the raven-haired shook his head, leaning over to catch his breath.

Glimpsing through the door, Neville wondered, "Thought I heard you. Are you ready to leave?"

"A minute," his partner requested, before straightening, looking at their team-leader. "I mean the other books. Are all of them accounted for as well?"

Slipping into the room, Neville mirrored Pince's confusion. The older Auror, however, was the one who inquired, "Why would someone steal books that can be found in bookstores or are available per owl-order? Why would their kidnappers have any need for everyday tomes, at all?"

"Because there is one thing librarians are better at than anybody else: conducting research! But to do so, you need to have the right sources at hand."

"Still," Neville acted as the voice of reason. "If they have really been abducted and set on a problem, how would every-day books be helpful for a challenge only they have the chance to overcome?"

Grinning, Harry stated, "Accio Firebolt."

Shaking his head, Pince interrupted. "How would a broom help them? Honestly, have you lost your mind?"

His partner, however, got it instantly. "It's not about the broom. It's about the fact that with a fifth-year summoning spell, even a fourth year can beat a dragon."

"The Triwizard's Tournament …" their team-leader nodded. "The spell was readily available. You just put it to a different use."

"We will take the library of Hogwarts," Neville decided. "I wanted to go there this afternoon anyway."

Confirming that, the older Auror started on a few memos and folded them up and sent them on their way in quick succession. When the two Aurors turned to go, he held them back with a short, "Thanks, Potter."

"What for?"

"Because I have a feeling that you are right. And if our victims really were taken to pick their brains, they are alive and well. Coerced, maybe, but unharmed and that gives us time to find them."

Trading a concerned glance with his partner, Harry gave reason for caution, "I think that depends entirely on the topic they have to research."

\--O-O--

Wandering through the corridors of Hogwarts with the Marauder's Map - thankfully the headmistress had given them free rein - she wanted her librarian back almost as desperately as her OWL and NEWT students did - Neville teased, "Who came up with the book idea? Admit it, you did not think of that yourself."

Miffed, Harry replied haughtily, "I will have you know, that I can think for myself on occasion."

Chuckling, his friend replied, "First, I never said that you couldn't, just that you do not think about books in your day to day life. And second, what the hell, Harry, you need to get out more! You start to sound like your little Malfoy."

Glaring, the raven-haired mumbled, "I am out. And I had lunch with Hermione and Lucius."

"Ah, Hermione, that explains it." Walking another corridor in silence, discovering a secret passage that promptly appeared on the map, but only led to an abandoned classroom, Neville asked after a while. "And how are you doing? With your Malfoys, I mean?"

"Draco is getting better; fewer nightmares and less frantic with brewing. His mind seems to slowly catch up to the fact that I won't kick him out and he won't have to return to the Manor. Even if he does not make himself useful every hour of every day. Narcissa is back to managing my social life, and I have to admit that I dread the Spring Equinox. Apparently, it is 'a time to renew old relationships and nurture new ones'."

"Why would you dread that?"

"Do you know what 'networking' is?"

"Of course."

"Well," Harry admitted. "I didn't, but Narcissa and Andromeda are forces to be reckoned with. They put me through a crash course and expect me to put my new knowledge to good use, by accepting every invitation I am being sent."

"Harry," Neville reminded him, "You have some pretty radical ideas for the future of our people. And no matter how much we stand behind you, you will need a far bigger support group than us if you want to succeed."

Sighing, gesturing at a hidden passage, the 'Saviour of the Wizarding World' shook his head. "I know. It's just … I hate to be made into a public spectacle."

"There is power in that."

"Yea," the young wizard sighed. "I just don't like it."

For a while they wandered aimlessly, checking this and that, letting the magic of the castle guide them. Hogwarts seemed to get bigger at every turn, leading them to new discoveries every hour. It was nearly time for dinner when Neville asked the question his friend had hoped to be able to avoid, "And what about Lucius?"

Pressing his lips together, Harry shook his head "He is acting all deferential and submissive. Trying his best not to jump to conclusions."

"In one word, you hate it!"

"Desperately!" the raven-haired admitted. "But I have no clue of how to make it stop. How to make him see that I am me and not the mirror image of Tom he seems to fear."

Pondering the problem, his partner suggested, "Then do something Voldemort would have never done. You know, to really drive the message home."

"And what?"

Grinning mischievously, Neville suggested, "Prank him."

Coming to a full stop, prompting the taller Auror to run into him, toppling them both over, Harry looked up, an evil grin spreading over his features. "You know what, Neville. You are a genius."

Offering his hand to pick his friend up, the other indicated a bow. "I aim to please."

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Then it hit him. Furiously, Harry drew his wand, "What the hell is Wormtail doing here? He has no right …!"


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resurrection Stone, round two. Nuff said :).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm finished with my Shadowhunter story. Now I have to type it and edit it and find a betareader and edit it again and all the tedious things one needs to do for a story to get it presentable. But, fear not, I still have a few more chapters ready to role for you, my cherished readers. Even some written in advance.

"Alright, so, a book on biology and an old, out of date one on the development of magical cores," Harry summarised the information they had gathered at Hogwarts.

"That makes no sense whatsoever," Charles Leewood, a colleague who specialised in behavioural analysis, stated before biting into a sandwich. After he had consumed his early lunch - or late breakfast, depending on the view - he went over their notes. "Finch's 'The Cores That Make Us' is a more modern version of the second book. And one of the five books missing from the Library at the Manchester University, along with two volumes that deal with wizarding biology and development. One that contains the same information about muggles and an anatomy book. There is no rhyme nor reason to these volumes. Don't you think that the core-book has not been merely checked out and never returned?"

"Give!" Neville demanded, capturing their colleague's notebook, so he could add Leewood's list of missing books to their board. It was the general consensus that Neville's precise letters were the easiest to read. Something they had to 'thank' Augusta Longbottom for, who had tortured her grandchild with endless hours of calligraphy training while young. At Hogwarts, Neville had tried to rebel, but where Harry's notes resembled chicken scratches when he was in a hurry, Neville's actually became neater. Sooner rather than later the boy had given up, seeing as it was easier to study with clear notes than with purposefully messed up ones. Hence, while he updated their spread-data, Harry gave his colleague reason for doubt with the simple question, "A book being checked out and never returned. Without a note? In Mdm Pince's domain. How likely is that?"

Sipping his tea, their colleague relented, "True. Still, it does not make any sense!"

Leaning against the table beside Charles to study the information available, those who had been sent to Westminster Abbey and the British Library still had to come through, Harry stole a biscuit and pondered, "When you update a book, is there only information added or removed as well?"

"Both," Alexander Pince piped up. He had ignored the other three Aurors until now, in favour of paperwork, but now he had something to add. "Aunt Irma once told me, that previously removed data is sometimes returned on a later update when new research indicates that it was legitimate in the first place."

When all three younger Aurors finally stood side by side at the table, Neville shrugged. "Still, doesn't make any sense," before stealing Charles' last biscuit.

\--O-O--

"Half of them seem to be magical texts and the other half muggle. Several dealt with biology and others with core development. One details the history of squibs, and one discusses the Salem witch trials. A herbology book was stolen as well, and the last tome discusses ley lines." Harry shared on his way through the Atrium, while he and Lucius were about to return to Grimmauld Place.

As it was proper, his vassal was walking slightly behind him, but swiftly caught up to make a quiet suggestion, "My liege, if I might be so bold to offer advice: talk this through with Narcissa. Before our wedding, she aspired to become a healer. Of course, she gave up on that, to take her proper place in society," he added hastily as if the thought of his wife holding a proper job was somehow offensive. After they had used the floo, Lucius added somewhat hesitantly. "Maybe, she could be of help."

Studying the platinum-blond for a heartbeat, getting lost in his own head, Harry nodded, "Maybe she wants to join us for dinner in an hour?"

Relieved, Lucius bowed. "Certainly, my … Harry."

Once the pureblood had returned to the Manor, the raven-haired rubbed the bridge of his nose, repeating to himself, like a mantra, "He's trying. He's trying. He's trying."

Peeking into the living-room, Draco started, "Thought I heard you. You're home early …," then he looked up from the notes he was carrying and asked exasperated, "What has Father done now?"

Banishing the ashes from his robes, Harry sank into a chair, closing his eyes. "Nothing. It's alright, Draco. Don't worry."

"Do you need a headache potion?"

With a weak smile, the raven-haired shook his head in bemusement. "You know, had I known the advantages of having my own potioneer, I would have abducted you years ago."

"Potter!" The pureblood sighed.

"Malfoy," Harry shot back, prompting the blond to groan.

"I know that look. Stop evading the question."

Shaking his head, this time in exasperation, the young Auror offered, "Look, your father is trying. I know he is. But the longer this liege-vassal thing is going on, the tenser he seems to become. As if he is just waiting for me to curse him into the next week for speaking out of turn."

"You-kno… Voldemort would have done so. He was not really the type to cherish free expression of opinion," Draco reminded him.

"I. Am. Not. Voldemort!" Harry forced out from behind clenched teeth.

Draco, however, seemed unperturbed by his opposite's agitation. "You're not, but the level of power you have, both as a wizard and over my family rivals that of the Dark Lord."

Horrified, Harry looked at his companion. "Do you really expect me to execute that power?"

"I don't," the blond stated casually. "I know you far too well to assume that you will go on a mad power-trip."

"But?"

"But my father does not have that advantage. The two of you are bound by an ancient rite. What you do, what you think, even how you feel influences him to a certain degree. Not so much at the beginning, but the connection deepens over time. Did you not notice that he was a lot more composed during Christmas? You were relaxed and happy. Both of you! Only recently have you become agitated again."

Flabbergast, Harry stated, "Are you telling me, that Lucius Malfoy is my own, personal mood-ring?"

"What is a mood ring?"

"A children's toy, where …," messing up his hair, Harry brought himself back on track. "Your father is influenced by my mood?"

"Yes, the Rite of Compulsory Surrender ties one magical person to another … usually a witch to a wizard. The idea behind it was a solution to family feuds. In the past, when a conflict got out of hand, the heads of the families either demanded duels or started looking for a mediator. Once the issue was resolved, as 'compensation' for the offence, it was common to present an eligible witch or wizard for marriage."

"Wouldn't that just transfer the conflict into the home of the new couple?"

"It did," Draco admitted, "at the beginning. Then the rite came in. It made the wife receptive to her new husband's needs and moods. Since most people don't like feeling uncomfortable all the time, the couples had to make a conscious effort to make each other happy. Well, not really happy, but at least content."

Fascinated, Harry enquired, "How do you know that? Hermione dug the rite up, but all we could find were the bare technicalities."

"I researched it, of course."

"Where?"

Rolling his eyes, the blond lectured, as if talking to Teddy, "There is this vast library on the first floor. Libraries contain books. Books contain knowledge. The Black Library contains vast knowledge on ancient rites and spells, especially those that bring unfair advantage to the caster." Rolling his eyes, he added, "It's not as if I can walk down the block to use the public library. Where did you think I am getting my information?"

"The Black Library contains books on ancient rites?"

"If there is a written word on a containment, binding or enslavement spell, rite or ritual, you can bet your last gallon, that the Black Library at least contains a passing remark. Especially since you have returned all the books that were confiscated during the war. My mother's family was known for getting their way … as is my mother, now that I think about it. I wonder what that says about my parents' marriage." He added on an afterthought.

Grinning, the young Auror challenged, "Since you are half Black, should I be worried?"

"Yes," the other wizard stated drily. "But since you choose to ignore all corresponding concerns I have brought to your attention, a week into our arrangement, I can't see it becoming an issue now."

But he could. Harry could sense the miniscule tensing of Draco's posture after that revelation. The blond had warned him of the dangers he could unleash if Harry gave him unrestricted access to his library. But the young Auror had not cared. True, at that time, they had discussed potions texts, with no laboratory or wand in sight. But even as his 'servant's' liberties had increased, Draco had never given Harry cause for concern. Trusting his former rival had not been a conscious decision on his part. It had just been a natural progression from the moment the blond had appeared on his doorstep.

"So, if I am in a tiff, Lucius suffers for it."

Barely keeping himself from face-palming, Draco replied with a forced calm, "It is certainly more complex than that. If you are stressed or worried for an extended amount of time, Father feels a minor reflection of these emotions. Just enough to let him know that intervention is needed."

Dreading the reply, Harry still forced himself to ask, "What about when I am hurt?"

Thinking back to the day the Auror had gotten buried under a house, the young pureblood shrugged. "It wasn't all sunshine and roses. But you were in good hands. Father had managed to convince himself, that he could support you best if he tried to help with the case. It got better when you came back to Grimmauld Place."

"I'm sorry," the raven-haired felt the need to say. "I didn't know."

Softly, Draco advised, "Don't be. When I came to ask for your help, I had little hope that you would actually be willing to give it, let alone succeed. But you … well, Granger … Hermione found a way, and I am grateful for that. As are my parents!" He added after a heartbeat. "You are not responsible for my families' past."

"But I might be for their future."

After a moment of contemplation, the other wizard wanted to know, "Are you familiar with the phrase, 'Sanctimonia Vincent Semper'?"

"Purity will always conquer?" Harry replied, looking a little proud of himself. "That's the motto of … of your family."

"Did Hermione train you?"

"No, Neville. He said that he was not going to attend ministry functions with someone who did not even know the mottos of the sacred twenty-eight."

"Labor Omnia Vincit," Draco pondered. "Neville surely did his family motto prouder than any of us. 'Hard work conquers all' indeed."

"Draco, why are we talking about family mottos? They are bullshit. Relicts of a time long passed. 'Toujours Pour'? Look at what came of that. Bella was batshit crazy, and Andromeda produced a powerful witch with a muggleborn."

Shrugging, the blond shared, "Because to us they are still important. Father followed a half-blood without doing his research, only to stay true to it. Maybe, if he had thought this through right from the beginning, we would not be here."

Gently, the raven-haired corrected, "Maybe if he had not thought about blood purity so much, instead of what was best for his wife and kid, none of this would have happened, in the first place. I mean your father was a big supporter of Tom. He might have had a harder time, without someone like Lucius' on his side, or with him outright opposing him!"

Tilting his head slightly, the blond admitted, "While that _might_ be true, we will never know. Father was not Voldemort's most powerful supporter. He just furthered his agenda like so many others."

"No, we won't," Harry conceded to that point. "But I just want to make sure that you won't repeat your parents' mistake for the sake of a hundred-year-old motto, that has been outdated since the beginning of the last century."

Rising from his armchair, the pureblood shook his head. He turned to look out of the window into the well-lit street. "It does not matter anyway," he admitted quietly after a few minutes. "It is not as if the Malfoy name has any chance of surviving this. We made a mistake, and our house will fall for it."

Worried, the raven-haired approached him, but Draco did not react, starring out into the night with dead eyes.

Gently, Harry asked, "Why do you say that?"

Bitterly, the young wizard laughed, "I'm a convicted Death Eater, bound to the 'Saviour of the Wizarding World'. That does not particularly scream 'eligible bachelor'."

"Those are circumstances. They will change."

"No, they won't," Draco whispered, digging his fingertips into the faded Dark Mark. "Even if my house arrest is lifted and you release me from my vow, this cursed thing will always be there, chaining me to my past like a slave's brand."

"Draco," his companion breathed, wrapping his fingers around the other's wrist, to keep him from hurting himself, pulling him into his chest. At first, the blond fought against the embrace. But then he hugged Harry back with a force that bordered on desperation.

Only now, standing at the window of his home, having the slimmer pureblood clawing at him to keep them close, Harry realised how deep the hurt in the Malfoy family really went. He had grown up feeling useless … like a freak. But at least on some level, at the back of his head, he had always known that he did not deserve that kind of treatment. Well, maybe not as a kid, but when he had finally attended Hogwarts, Harry had realised that what his aunt and uncle had done to him had been unjustified and wrong. Now, he wondered how it had felt to be shunned and looked down upon, for a decision you had once made in good faith … in the hope of doing what was right for the people most important to you.

Harry could do very little to influence his own mood when on a case. Being an Auror meant suffering the entire range of emotions from anger, to exhilaration, to despair. However, maybe he could alter Lucius' expectations somewhat. Teach him how to deal with his liege’s bouts of overflowing feelings that were entirely unrelated to him.

When Draco slowly unclenched his hands after a few minutes, the raven-haired pointedly ignored his pale, slightly wet face and inquired, "Would you help me with a prank?"

"Whom do you want to prank?"

"Your father."

Taking a deep breath, pulling his mask back on, Draco folded his arms and demanded, "Alright, Potter, spill!"

\--O-O--

Since Pince had banished him from the Ministry for the next two days, since, "Nobody can think straight after staring at the evidence for nine consecutive days. This is a team effort, so go home, get out of your head. You can return Friday morning, nine a.m., and Longbottom, Potter, you're in charge of breakfast," Harry sat in his office.

Neither Neville nor he liked to be thrown out but had relented since all of them even dreamed about books these days. Considering that they did not believe the librarians to be in mortal danger, they did not even sneak out files to work from home. Well, not many at least. Neville had secretly copied the Curriculum Vitae of their victims, and Harry might have gathered a copy of their book-list. Maybe Narcissa could help. But was it worth the risk? The Black sister was not a delicate flower that would wither if she was met with hostility that would inevitably happen at the ministry. But the idea of bringing her in, forcing her to deal with bouts of animosity from all sides, did not sit well with Harry. Better to pick her brain to see if the risk was worth the gain. He could always ask Robarts and Pince if they agreed to bring an independent consultant in. Grinning, Harry pondered. A new concept to ask for permission rather than forgiveness. But for the sake of the Lady Malfoy, he was willing to give it a try.

Of course, as expected, Narcissa offered her support readily, even if that meant going in. So, Harry had left her at the Black library with the list of books and finally decided to catch up on some much-needed sleep. However, his first night turned out not to be as restful as he had hoped. Around three, shouts of anguish had pulled him out of a rather disturbing dream, where the books of the Restricted Session were shouting at him to find their librarian. Rushing to Snape's room, he saw the man thrashing on his bed with surprising agility. It seemed that Draco's potions had indeed made a difference. Also, Emilia had shared that the man's stubbornness to work against her had him lock his muscles more often than not, providing an unexpected workout. Still, his unresponsiveness had her concerned for his vocal development. Something they naturally could not improve without his cooperation.

So, after barely a knock, Harry burst into the room, shaking their patient awake. For a moment, Snape's hands were clutching his arms, albeit weakly. Yet when the wizard came back to himself, he merely let his arms fall away and turned his head, despite his cheeks being covered by tears. A month ago, the raven-haired would have reached out to brush them away. Now, he did not dare. Harry had thought to have built a relationship with Snape over the past few years. But now, he had to face the fact that he merely had constructed one in his head. He had imagined them to become something akin to friends, well, confidants at least. Yet, in reality, it had merely been him talking to someone unconscious. Someone who had not even heard him. The Potion Master did not know him. Did not like him in the least. Maybe he even hated him. As it had happened so often these last few weeks, Harry shivered, curling into the armchair beside Snape's bed.

"I wish I could help you," he whispered, more to himself since his professor had made it clear that he did not have the slightest interest in any form of communication. "I wish I could make you see that this is your chance to finally live the life you have always wanted. I've planned it all quite thoroughly. Even Draco approves," he added with a forced smile, hoping that the mentioning of Snape's godson would elicit a response. Still … nothing. "I told Emilia to kick your ass, verbally of course. But I guess I was wrong there as well. I hoped that you would be defiant if someone challenged you. However, it seems that that hope was in vain."

After a while, Harry groaned and tousled his hair. Shivering, he looked around. Where was this blasted draft coming from? He had checked the doors and all windows several times this last week, but they were airtight, well, as airtight as one could expect from windows. Worried that Snape was suffering from the cold breeze, Harry reached out to pull up his quilt but aborted the motion half-way through. He had no right to enter the professor's personal space like that. Had not had it in the first place, no matter the liberties he had taken these last four years. Sighing, the raven-haired pondered, "Maybe we're simply not the people you want to talk to …"

That thought pulled Harry up short. Looking at the man, who had pointedly turned his head away, the young wizard tried to think this through. Would it push Snape too far, or could one person … the right person … make him see that his life was just beginning? The man was only in his early forties after all. For a wizard that was quite young.

After grabbing one particular item from his room, Harry sank back into his, no, Snape's armchair. "Maybe, …" he started, taking a deep breath. "Maybe we have gone about this all wrong. Maybe, you simply cannot believe us, when we tell you that you have a chance. That this is all your choice. But maybe … maybe there is someone who can convince you. Someone you would actually believe." Closing his eyes, Harry prayed, "God, please don't let this be a mistake." Then he turned the Resurrection Stone three times in his hand.

Looking around, the young wizard's breath caught, when he noticed the figures around them. Tears rose in his eyes when Sirius smiled from where he was leaning beside a window, "Hey, Harry."

That prompted his father, who had claimed Harry's favourite window-sill, to look up from - where these Exploding Snap cards? - to look up relieved, "By Merlin, son, took you long enough to get the hint. I was getting a headache, and that means something when you are dead." James Potter chuckled, smiling at him before he turned his head. "Lily? Lily come on! You can stop sulking now."

Following his father's gaze, Harry noticed his mother, who seemed to brood in the dark corner beside the bed. Gazing at him, her eyes burned with determination, not unlike Hermione's when she had sunken her teeth into a particularly tricky problem. For the first time, Harry could understand why his best friend was called 'the brightest witch of her age' because if Lily Evans had had the mind to rival that determination, she would have given Hermione a run for her money. Somehow, the young wizard did not doubt that, especially, since many of his teachers at Hogwarts had praised his mother's brains, the few times they had talked about her.

Still, he - the battle-hardened Auror - had to keep himself from flinching when his mother's eyes found his.

"Give him the Stone, Harry."

Swallowing around a constricting throat, the young man could not help but secretly peek at Sirius and his dad, who were barely able to hide their grins at his apprehension.

"It's okay, Harry," his godfather assured him, and James added, "Don't worry, son, everything will be alright. Now do as your mother says."

Having approached her son, Lily had sunken to her knees in front of him. Her tone was considerably softer now that she tried to reassure him, "It's okay, Harry, I promise. But there are a few things Severus needs to hear, and a few more, I have to say. Please, give us one hour, and if I can't convince him to participate in his own recovery, at least we will have tried everything."

Glancing at their patient, a lonely tear slipped down his cheek as Harry whispered hoarsely, "I just want him to have a chance. He has given this war everything. He has protected me ever since I had set foot into Hogwarts. I just want him to have a chance at the future he deserves."

Reaching out, stopping herself shy of her child's face, his mother whispered, "I will try my very best. But now you have to give him the stone, love."

Nodding somewhat reluctantly, the young wizard rose and stepped up to the bed. Plucking up his courage, Harry reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair out of Snape's face. Somehow, when he was awake, the gesture felt a lot more intimate. Still, it had the desired effect of the man turning his head, to glare at him. The look was so terribly familiar that Harry had to suppress a smile. Taking a deep breath, he stated, "For what I am about to do I am sorry. Well, not really sorry, but I regret that it is necessary. Though - depending on the outcome - you might disagree. This is a one-time occurrence, Sir, so I hope you can forgo your pride and make the most of it." After a heartbeat, the young wizard added, "You are the strongest man I know. You, being here like this does not change that." Then he looked at his mother, and when the witch offered a decisive nod, he turned the Resurrection Stone three times in Snape's hand, before closing the man's fingers around it.

"Severus Tobias Snape, you will listen to me now, or I swear, the moment you enter the afterlife, I will hex you into oblivion!"

Had Harry wanted to make sure that Snape would not let go of the Stone involuntarily, he now realised that this was not a concern to be had, since the man clutched his fingers so tightly, his knuckles turned white, as he sobbed, "Lily …"

When Remus appeared in his peripheral vision, Harry could not help but relax as the werewolf told him in a soothing tone, "Everything will be fine, Harry. But now go. This is between Severus and Lily."

Looking at his patient, the young man noticed the tears that were already gathering in his patient's eyes. But at Harry's inquisitive look, Snape merely gave a miniscule nod, before drinking in the sight of his childhood friend like a starved man.

"One hour," Harry enforced, before letting go.

\--O-O--

Three-quarters of an hour later found him sitting in the kitchen, staring into his third cup of coffee. Somehow, the caffeinated drink did nothing to invigorate him. Could coffee expire … or lose its potency? When Harry heard the front door, he scrambled out of his seat to intercept Emilia, before the medi-witch could even approach the stairs.

"Emilia, … ahm … hi … I mean, … good morning. Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Studying him, the witch frowned, "Are you alright, Harry?"

"Perfectly alright!" The young wizard assured her. Still, he gazed uncertainly at the staircase. "Have tea with me, please. I'll even make you breakfast."

"I have already eaten."

"I haven't," Draco interrupted, coming down the stairs. "Two eggs, sunny side up, with three strips of bacon would be much appreciated. And a good morning to the two of you."

Looking after Draco, then back at Emilia, the raven-haired repeated, "Please."

Folding her arms before her chest, the witch inquired, "How long?"

"Twenty minutes. He just needs twenty more minutes. Then things will be better."

Narrowing her eyes, the medi-witch hesitated for a heartbeat before she agreed, "I will take an egg as well, one strip of bacon and a slice of toast if you please."

Relieved, Harry stepped aside. "Breakfast will be served momentarily."

When they entered the kitchen, Draco had already set the plates and cutlery on the table, leaving it for Emerald to arrange them. He was currently measuring out the tea-leaves, not willing to risk camomile tea for breakfast.

Harry was just serving the bacon and eggs when he felt a cold breeze running over his back. Putting the empty pan into the sink, he excused himself. "I'll be back in a minute." Taking a deep breath at the bottom of the stairs, he made his way up to the third floor.

Snape's eyes met his for a second, before he gazed longingly at the edge of the bed, telling the young wizard where the ghost of his mother was residing. Slowly he approached the bed, speaking quietly, "You need to give the Stone back now, Sir. I imagine there are thousands of things you still want to tell her, believe me, I do. I share the sentiment. But the living have no business with the dead. It's too easy to get lost with them."

Still, his old teacher held on to the Resurrection Stone for dear life. Harry, however, did not want them to struggle. That would be unfair. Nor did he want to take the decision from a man who had had precious little autonomy for the last few decades. Thus, the raven-haired resorted to pleading softly, "Please, Sir, I promise. You will see her again one day." And finally, the man let go.

Prepared for his shift of vision, Harry let the stone fall into his open palm. He met the loving gaze of his mother, mirroring her smile before some movement in the corner of his eyes drew his attention. A mousy haired teenager was cowering there. His nervous eyes darted from Sirius to James to Lily and then to Remus, who was standing at the bedside as well. Something in the boy's aborted movement felt familiar, but the young Auror could not place it. Then it hit him. Furiously, he drew his wand, "What the hell is Wormtail doing here? He has no right …!"

Yet instead of sharing the sentiment, the other three Marauders merely traded a look. Remus took a step towards Harry and put himself between the young man and the twitching boy. His voice was calm and as reasonable as always, making Harry ache for a moment. "I understand that you are angry, Harry, but there is literally nothing you can do. This is Peter's very own purgatory. In death, he regressed to a time where we were still friends while keeping the knowledge of his betrayal. We are all he has ever known, the only friends he has ever had. Yet, he is aware that he has blown his chances of us ever returning this friendship. Not after what he has done. So, his soul is trapped in this constant state of need and despair."

"You don't plan to forgive him," the young wizard stated harshly.

"Oh, sweetheart." Lily sighed, while Sirius tried to explain, "Death has a way of putting things into perspective, and eternity is a very long time to hold a grudge."

"But he betrayed you," his godson forced out from behind clenched teeth, fighting down his tears of anger. His wand arm was shaking by now, directed at empty space - at least in the world of the living. "He is the reason all of you are dead! He took you from me! This is All. His. Fault!" He tried to veer forward, to step around Remus' ghost to reach the whimpering teenager. But a surprisingly firm grip around his wrist held him back. Whipping around, emerald eyes met black ones, and after a heartbeat, Harry lowered his occlumency shields.

"The living have no business with the dead." Snape's calm voice filled his head, throwing his own words back at him. Somehow it helped. "However," the former Death Eater continued, "if you are still angry at this pathetic excuse of a rat the day you die, you can demonstrate your undoubtedly impressive brawling abilities and pummel him into the ground. I might even be willing to chain him up to await your timely arrival. But this is a problem to face a century from now. Not today!"

Putting an arm around Lily, James agreed, "Sniv… Severus is right, Harry. Peter is not your concern any longer, so stop wasting your time thinking about him. He is not worth it."

Finally, relaxing, because not only were the two most unlikely people in his life agreeing with each other, taking a step back, Harry could even see the wisdom in their advice. Still, he could not help but tease, "It hurt to say that Severus is right, didn't it, dad?"

Reaching out, nearly over his son's messy hair, James admitted sheepishly, "Maybe a little. But it's true, nevertheless. And while we are grateful that you have given us this chance, it is time to end it."

"I …" Harry exhaled wetly, but Snape's strong fingers were anchoring him. Hence, he merely nodded, looking over the beloved ghosts one more time, before slipping the stone into his pocket. The brief breeze of cold air he felt surrounding him after a moment, actually made him smile.

A knock on the door startled Severus and Harry alike.

"Harry, may I come in now?" Emilia wanted to know.

Trading a look with his professor, who nodded his consent, the young wizard confirmed, "Yes, please."

Looking from her patient to his caretaker and back again, the medi-witch wanted to know, "How are you, Mr Snape?"

Wetting his lips, visibly gathering his courage, Snape responded somewhat haltingly, "I am … better."

Harry noticed that Emilia had to suppress a smile before the witch tilted her head. "In that case, let us see if we can build up from here. We have a lot of work to do."

Relieved that he could finally leave those two to their work, Harry turned towards the door. However, before he could slip out, a quiet voice held him back, "Mister Potter."

Turning around, Harry asked somewhat apprehensively, "Yes, Sir?"

Another split-second hesitation, then Severus Snape tilted his head. "Thank you."

And all of a sudden, the young wizard felt about a hundred pounds lighter. Still, since his professor had never been for displays of emotion, the young man forced himself to reply evenly, "You're welcome," before closing the door.

\--O-O—

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sampling the wine he had been served, finding it to his liking, Lucius took another sip, before joining the dinner conversation. "Those were the only times you were allowed to use a goblet instead of your usual water-glass, Draco. You insisted since you were allowed a 'grown-up-drink' as well."  
> Eyes going wide, Narcissa lifted her napkin to hide her cough when a piece of meat went down the wrong way. Harry addressed her with forced casualty, offering more wine, had her look unsure between the two young wizards. "Actually, I am not sure if this vintage is to my liking."  
> "Really, Narcissa?" Lucius took another sip. "I always thought you enjoyed that particular vineyard. We have a vast amount of this brand in store."  
> "Somehow, I doubt that," the Lady mumbled, but before her husband could inquire further, Draco picked up the bottle and topped off all of their glasses. "I think it goes lovely with the meat," he said, mirroring Harry's raised glass.  
> When both drank, Narcissa relented. It was an excellent vintage after all. In fact, Lucius was right, she had always insisted on purchasing a crate every season. Still, she could not help but comment, "Lovely shade," before returning to her meal.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Much appre …," Severus started, but stopped himself just in time. "dank you."  
> Grinning, Harry relaxed back into the chair. "Thank me after you have tasted it. The first time, Andromeda and I came up with the final mixture, it nearly blew out my brain."  
> Severus raised eyebrow conveyed the challenge, without a single word. 'Bring it on!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is NOT the beginning of a prank war. But I think Lucius will look lovely with his died hair :).

Trudging back down, Harry sagged into his chair at the breakfast table. A glance at the clock told him that barely twenty minutes had passed. Yet, somehow, it felt like a lifetime. When Draco slid the rack over, he gratefully grabbed a square of toast and slathered it with butter and jam. A little sugar surely would do him good.

After breakfast, Draco prompted, "Would you join me in the lab, please? I have questions about your plans for my father."

Nodding, Harry yawned, but he followed the blond to the attic.

"You see, I see several approaches for what you have in mind. Severus had a similar idea and had described it in detail." Handing over an old, obviously well-loved book, the blond snapped when the other wizard tried to claim his desk for reading. "I'm working here. You can use the couch. Go, scoot!" He made shooing motions until Harry claimed a corner of the ratty sofa at the side.

"So, you can do any colour?" The young Auror wanted to know, after puzzling through the first paragraph. Though potions were a requirement for the Auror corps, he had scraped his test by, with bated breath. While he had gotten better at the basics when no moody, gloomy teacher tried to make his life hell, he had never felt any particular preference of using a stirring rod over his wand, no matter how useful potions could be in the field. He knew how to brew a healing draught, a pepper-up and - most importantly - a hangover cure, though he usually had to prepare the later with a pounding headache. As a result, he had sicked up the potion twice so far, but afterwards, he had been cured. That still was a win in Harry's book. Hence, he was able to work through Snape's amazingly detailed explanations, entertaining ideas of various colour combination.

It seemed that Draco shared this sentiment, since he chuckled, glancing at the page Harry studied. "Yes, we can even do Gryffindor red with golden stripes. Now hush, I have work to do."

When soft snoring filled the quiet of the room a few minutes later, Draco looked up from his doodle. He had decided within the hour after Harry had shared his intentions about the prank, which potion and colour additives to prepare. But Severus' journals, especially those of his earlier years, were notoriously dry, that you had to fight the desire to dunk the entire thing into a cauldron of tea, just to spice them up a little. There really was no better reading material to put anyone to sleep.

"Kreacher," the blond called out quietly, and instantly the house-elf popped up right beside him, a thick blanket hovering before him.

"Thank you." Reaching for the wrap, Draco spread it over the raven-haired, rescuing the potions' journal from its folds.

"Kreacher does not like to trick his master. No, he doesn't. No, he doesn't." The elf shook his head stubbornly. "Coffee is serious business, Master Harry says. Not to be messed with."

"Well, if it's any comfort," the other wizard shrugged, "It was me who switched the tins. So technically, you did nothing wrong."

Obviously still uncomfortable, Kreacher pulled his ears. "Maybe, Kreacher should tell Master Harry and apologise before punishing himself."

Studying the house-elf, who clearly seemed torn between conflicting loyalties, Draco folded his arms before his chest and glared down at him. "Do you know what happens to house-elves who snitch on their house-guests?"

"No …" Kreacher looked up hesitant.

"They have to drink Camomile Tea. All. Day. Long!"

Shuddering, Kreacher pulled his ears. "No, No, No, No, No! Kreacher is a good elf. Won't say a word. No, he won't."

"Good," Draco decided, smiling when the elf relaxed. "Now go. I have a potion to brew."

\--O-O--

Not long before lunch, Harry opened his eyes and groaned, "I must have been more tired than I thought, to sleep on three cups of coffee. Usually, Kreacher's brews keep me awake until midnight."

"I would not worry too much," Draco commented absent-mindedly. "I switched your Arabian blend to decaf."

"You messed with my coffee, are you nuts?"

"Only today. You were running on empty and needed sleep."

Irritated, Harry snapped, "You are not Hermione! You have no right to mess with my food!"

"Though I am sure I would look quite lovely in a yellow dress," the blond referred to a photo Harry had in his office of his best friends attending some kind of garden party. Then he brushed off the topic and inquired, "What colour would you prefer?"

Shaking his head to wake himself up, Harry snatched Draco's cup and served himself some tea from the always steaming pot. "Ah, Earl Grey. How did you manage?"

"I spelled yellow flowers on the tin." Sliding over a list of colour options, the wizard elaborated, "Yellow is for Earl Grey. Red is for English Breakfast. The iridescent flower is on the tin with the unflavoured leaves - tell her you want rainbow-flower tea if you intend to go for that one. Pink is for the fruit-tea while green is for peppermint. Camomile tea is, of course, still white."

"This one," Harry decided, pointing at one particular ingredient on Draco's list.

"Really? I would have sworn that you would go with red … or gold at least."

"Gold is not eye-catching enough, and your father would look ridiculous in red."

"I thought that was the point."

"Yes … No …," the raven-haired sighed. "I want to prove a point. I don't have to be cruel about it."

Taking a deep breath, going over his potion-base one last time, Draco nodded decisively. "Crushed Scarabaeus shell it is. I think I have enough to make this work. But then … we'll truly know tonight at dinner."

"Great. In that case, I'll go downstairs and check on Snape. See how he is doing."

"Why would you think anything is different now?" The blond asked a little bitter. He had done research, lost sleep and maybe a little bit of his sanity when working on his godfather's potions. Especially considering how chummy he now was with all the Gryffindors in his life. And then that bastard dared to give up before they had explored all venues of what might help his recovery.

Offering back the cup, now filled with fresh tea, sugar and a dash of milk, Harry assured him, "I think he had a change of heart. But I guess you'll see for yourself when you read to him after lunch."

"How do you …" the other asked baffled. Until now, Draco had been convinced that nobody knew of his extracurricular activities. Except for Emilia, of course, but the medi-witch approved, and he had asked her to keep it to herself. Clearly, he had been wrong.

Chuckling, the raven-haired shook his head at the other's irritation. "It's your right, Draco. Snape is your godfather after all, and if you want to spend time with him, you are welcome to." 'At least you have the chance,' remained unspoken and the pureblood did not even want to fathom the pain Potter had felt when losing his own godfather.

"I … ahm … yes, thank you." Draco mumbled, before drawing himself to his full height again. "Well, I won't have time for reading if you keep distracting me. Go! I have a potion to finish."

Offering an elaborated bow, Harry replied, "Yes, your highness," before dashing out to avoid the stinging hex Draco sent after him in retaliation.

\--O-O--

'It will be fine. I promise,' Harry had said. Draco snorted. The 'Chosen One' could not make that kind of promise, and they both knew it. Nobody had control over Severus Snape's actions. Not the Dark Lord, not Draco and certainly not Harry Potter. The man had despised the boy because of his father! So, it was really better for him not to get his hopes up. Still, in addition to the book he had chosen at the beginning of the week, Draco had picked up a second one, when he had left the library. It was small, the weight utterly neglectable. Hence, it really did not matter if he carried it around.

After giving his pre-functioned knock, he slipped into the room and claimed the armchair. He looked out of the window to compose himself because it hurt too much to see his godfather lying in bed, unresponsive and not because he had to because of a coma, but because he chose to not react. The grey weather of mid-day February seemed to reflect his mood. Forcing himself to take an even breath, the pureblood started, "Since we have finished 'The Warlock's Hairy Heart' yesterday, let's continue with 'Babbity Rabbity and the Crackling Stump'."

He cleared his throat and started reading, "A long time ago, in a land far away, there was a …"

"Stop … now!"

Draco's eyes flew up to meet intense black ones.

"I hate … dat inane book. Choose someth … some …"

"Something …" the blond helped out in a whisper, scared to offend the proud man, who put so much visible effort into speaking clearly, despite not having had the chance for several years. Apparently, the support was not appreciated, since the man glared at him and forced out, "… another."

"Yes, Uncle Sev," Draco replied breathless, opening the second book he had brought with trembling fingers, reading in a somewhat wet voice, to tide over his emotions. "There was a law in the city of Athens which gave to its citizens the power of compelling their daughters to marry whomsoever they pleased; …"

"Draco."

"Yes?"

"Dank you."

The blond could not help but blush, clutching the small book. "It's just the tale, not the play. I just thought you would enjoy it more than the Tales of Beetle the Bard."

"Not de book."

"I know." Looking up, Draco offered a small smile, barely holding back his tears of finally being given back the man who had acted more like a father to him than Lucius at times. Neither of them had ever been the type to display signs of physical affection after Draco's eighth birthday. That simply was not done in their circles. Yet, when Severus opened his hand, inching it a tiny bit closer, the young wizard instantly laced their fingers, claiming a place at the foot of the bed. For a few minutes, they just sat there, basking in the proximity of a cherished person, one who had finally been ready to take their fate into their own hands.

After a while, Severus demanded, "Go on."

\--O-O--

Dinner that evening had Harry and Draco in high spirits. And though Snape insisted on eating alone … or more, alone, with but Emilia since he had not yet the fine motor control to care for his own meals, the raven-haired had insisted that Kreacher made his favourite. When inspecting the dinner preparations, he had not been able to keep in his amusement to himself. "Seriously? Snape's favourite is Sunday Roast with Yorkshire Pudding?"

Checking on the sauce, Draco added a dash of red pepper before praising, "That tastes amazing Kreacher. Very good!" Then he inquired, "What did you expect?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted, stealing one of the tiny bread rolls Emerald had tried her hand on in the afternoon. "Maybe something along the lines of black pudding, preferably raw? He did seem the vampire type at school."

"Potter, you have a very disturbed mind."

When the floo sprang to life, Draco threw Harry a vial of a purple concoction. "I'll get them into the dining room."

Nodding, the master of the house kneeled before his house-elf. "Kreacher, this vial goes into Lucius' wine. Only his! Understood?"

Studying the vial for a moment, the elf inquired, "This won't do any harm. If Master is angry with his servant, why would he do something without consequence?"

"You know what that does, just from looking at it?" The Auror asked, surprised.

"Kreacher is a house-elf for more than a century. Kreacher knows his plants and concoctions. All good house-elves do. We prepare the food. We have to be trusted!"

Having scrambled out from under the table, where yet another tower of cutlery seemed to be in the making, Emerald studied the vial with her head tilted to the side. Her face was scrunched up in concentration, until she giggled and jumped up and down, clapping her hands in excitement. "Pretty!"

"Shhh!" Harry hushed her immediately and thanks to Merlin and Morgana, their little elf clapped her hands over her mouth to muffle her giggles.

"Only for Lucius!" The wizard emphasised once again, before leaving for the dining room. Nearly through the door, he heard Emerald stage-whisper, "Lucius is be so pretty!" Fortunately, he was the only one.

"Severus loved this dish, do you remember, Draco?" Narcissa reminisced with a fond smile on her face, a few bites into the meal. "Whenever he could actually make it on a Sunday, he always encouraged me to put it on the menu."

Eyes lighting up with long forgotten memories, the blond recalled, "And he always chose apple-juice over wine. He said it would bring out the flavours even better."

Sampling the wine, he had been served, finding it to his liking, Lucius took another sip, before joining the conversation. "Those were the only times you were allowed to use a goblet instead of your usual water-glass. You insisted since you were allowed a 'grown-up-drink' as well."

Eyes going wide, Narcissa lifted her napkin to hide her cough when a piece of meat went down the wrong way. Harry addressed her with forced casualty, offering more wine, had her look unsure between the two young wizards. "Actually, I am not sure if this vintage is to my liking."

"Really, Narcissa?" Lucius took another sip. "I always thought you enjoyed that particular type. We have a vast amount of it in store."

"Somehow, I doubt that," the Lady mumbled, but before her husband could inquire further, Draco picked up the bottle and topped off all of their glasses. "I think it goes lovely with the meat," he said, mirroring Harry's raised glass.

When both drank, Narcissa relented. It was an excellent vintage after all. In fact, Lucius was right, she had always insisted on purchasing a crate every season. Still, she could not help but comment, "Lovely shade," before returning to her meal.

The dish turned out excellent, and a part of Draco wanted to go upstairs and discover if it met Severus' approval. But that would defeat the purpose of keeping his godfather hidden, for now. Maybe he could pretend he had some leftover potion brewing? No, the youngest Potion Master in Britain had taught him better than that. His mother would instantly get suspicious if he offered such a weak excuse. Also, it was actually a pleasure to watch his potion at work. Once the wine was consumed, Harry picked up some strange muggle camera and requested, "Smile for me, Lucius."

The moment his father looked up in confusion, Potter pushed a button, and a flash went off. Fascinated, Draco watched the other wizard pull the black and white square the little machine had spit out, shaking it to dry the potion that coated the developing picture. The three Malfoys were still blinking dots from their visions when Harry gave a broad smile. "Lovely. That goes into my office.",

When he turned the image, Draco nodded. "Quite poised, father. I like it."

And it was true, though his liege had surprised him, Lucius still appeared quite collected and regal. Chin lifted, back straight, only his eyebrows gave an indication of him not having been prepared to have his picture taken.

"I have to agree with you, Harry. May I impose on you for a copy?" Narcissa inquired, taking another sip of her wine.

"You cannot be serious," her husband gasped. "The colouring is all wrong."

"Well, we are currently working on the potion that gives it colour. But I think it's not that far off," Harry mumbled, doing his best to hide his smile.

Studying the picture and then Lucius, the Lady shrugged. "I consider this quite accurate. A little muted perhaps. But I assume the muggle technology is to blame for that."

"My hair is green!" The former Lord forced out exasperated.

"Teal, actually," his son informed him, making Lucius whip around.

Funnily, that gesture brought a strand of hair into his line of vision and whatever the man had intended to say got stuck in his throat. After glancing down suspiciously, as if he expected the hair to rear up and bite him, he unfroze after a heartbeat and scrambled to reach for his tresses. Entirely baffled he then accused, "You have dyed my hair!"

"We did," Harry confirmed. "Draco brewed the potion, and I slipped it into your glass."

"And you noticed," he reproached his wife.

With a tiny smile, Narcissa toasted the two conspirators. "Not the slipping, merely the change of colour."

And then something happened, neither Harry nor Draco could have predicted: Lucius started laughing.  
At first, it was merely a shaking of his shoulders, but after a minute he was laughing out loud, gasping for breath. Tears of mirth started running down the pureblood's cheeks, and his joy was so infectious, that after a moment the entire table joined him.

Once the tears had abated, and he had caught his breath, Lucius explained in good humour, "I have never told anybody, but Severus did something similar to me in fifth year. I made the mistake of using one of **his** advanced potion texts for one of my essays. However, when I boasted about my outstanding mark, he snatched the paper and discovered the plagiarism."

"But Severus had to be at least a year your junior." Narcissa pondered. "How was his research of any help to you."

"Yes, he was in fifth year, while I was in sixth."

"But that makes no sense," Draco interrupted. "You had an entirely different curriculum!"

Agreeing, his father tilted his head. "You are right, of course. Yet, you forget something."

Recalling the book of the half-blood prince, Harry smiled, "He was a potions progeny even then. His understanding and knowledge reached beyond his year."

Taking a sip of his wine, because his hair was teal anyway and he rather liked the taste, the former Lord agreed. "Yes, he could have shown us all up. But he rather kept to himself, preferring his studies in the library over socialising in the common room."

"Would he even have had a chance?" Harry inquired quietly. "I mean he was a half-blood, and quite poor on top of that. I admit that I do not know much about the inner workings of Slytherin, but it seems to me that a boy of his standing had it difficult either way."

Trading a glance with his wife, the two pure-bloods sighed a little. However, Narcissa chose to answer. "Had he been bolder and more outgoing, he might have had a chance. His genius with potions would have given him something to utilise. Slytherins respect talent and cunning. But if you don't display enough confidence in your abilities, nobody will look at you twice."

Not at all liking the picture his parents were painting, despite knowing them to be right, Draco inquired tonelessly, "But you did. You invited him into our home, made him my godfather."

"Because I realised early on that our Lord … that Voldemort would benefit from a Potion Master on his side. Offering one who was already bound to me, at least on an emotional level, seemed advantageous."

Pressing his lips together, the blond nodded in understanding and looked down at his plate again, making no further inquiry.

Harry could understand the sentiment. Nobody would enjoy hearing that his godfather had been chosen for 'political' reasons.

"Draco," at his mother's unspoken request, the young man reached for her hand. "Do not think that we did not care for Severus. He was a good friend to our family, and despite his precarious position, he always did his best to care for you. Never doubt his love, because everybody could see him falling for you, the moment your father placed you into his arms."

Somewhat appeased by that, Draco wanted to know, "What colour?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said that Uncle Sev did something similar to you at Hogwarts. What colour did he turn your hair?"

Smiling once again at the memory, Lucius revealed, "Sunshine Yellow. He even bribed one of the older students to turn all of my robes a blazing white. I looked like an upside-down dandelion for a week."

"What did you do in retaliation?" Narcissa asked.

"I bought him a new cauldron since his was already worn down."

Gapping, his son repeated, "He humiliated you publicly, and you bought him a new cauldron?"

"Well, I did cheat off his work, and the first rule of cheating is …"

"To not get caught!" Father and son finished in one voice before Lucius continued his tale. "Also, Severus had already proven himself skilled, resourceful and quite vindictive when it came to his potions. He might not have considered making use of his potions at that point, but he certainly had no qualms about offering his knowledge as a bargaining chip. I had no interest in starting a war that I was not convinced I could win."

Smiling, Narcissa concluded, "So you made an enemy a friend."

"It was not that hard," the former Lord shrugged. "Severus lacked the funds and appreciation, both I could offer easily."

Frowning, Draco shook his head. "He would have never simply taken money from you."

"No, he would not, not even when he walked around in fraying second-hand robes," Lucius replied with a small smile. "But he was entirely agreeable to be paid for his work. Headache-cures, Pepper-Up Potions and certain hair products were always in high demand, and with my help he got quite an operation going. Unofficially of course."

\--O-O--

"I'll be in the lab for another hour," Draco revealed once his parents were gone.

Touching the blond's arm, Harry reminded him, "He's awake now and getting better. You don't have to work yourself to the bones, Draco."

"I know," the other replied swiftly before looking up. The raven-haired looked seriously concerned, so Draco assured, "I promise, I know. I just had an idea during dinner and want to think it through before calling it a day."

"No brewing?"

"No brewing!" Draco smiled. He was aware that he had worn himself ragged during Severus' depression, permanently feeling inadequate, convinced that, if he just found the right potion, he could help his godfather. But in the end, it had been Harry, and whatever the other wizard had done, he would not put it in question, mainly since it had worked.

"What idea?"

Pondering if he should reveal his thoughts, or just think them through first, the blond decided to satisfy his companion's curiosity, "You know how there are muscle relaxant potions?"

"Of course. I once basically lived off them after getting hit with a particularly nasty curse to the spine. The muscle contractions it caused were nearly unbearable."

"Well, I thought that maybe localised versions would be beneficial, as to not have the body get used to them. You know, specific potions for specific parts of the body. Maybe pastes. Emilia once commented that with his resistance against her training, she was worried that he could overtax himself."

"Not that that was a serious concern at the time …," Harry mumbled.

Shrugging, the potioneer admitted, "No, it wasn't. I think she just wanted to give me something to think about since I was running in circles."

"And?" The raven-haired inquired, leaning against the sink where the dishes were cleaning themselves.

"Well, today I thought about him talking again," he carefully avoided mentioning that he had listened in on Emilia sharing her concerns with Harry, about Snape's tendency to overdo everything, even his speech training. "The throat, the voice-box, the vocal cords, in the end, that's all muscles. So, I thought a localised muscle relaxant could help. The problem is that it only needs to work on a particular part of the body. If it relaxes him too much, it might impair his speech. If it's too light, it might not help at all. I know that I have read something about a local anaesthetic in one of Severus' journals and wanted to see if I could find it again."

Scratching his head, somewhat uneasy, Harry said nothing.

"What is it? I know that look!"

"Do you think that's the right thing to do?" The other wizard asked, and instantly regretted the question when Draco tensed defensively.

"What?"

"Using his journals, I mean, not the idea with the potion, that one's perfect. I just thought … I mean these are his ideas. And to use them for personal gain … I mean I know you try to help him, but … I don't know …" Harry tapered off, unsure of how to explain himself.

"Oh," the blond tilted his head. He had not thought about it that way. Severus' journals had been used to help the man, but now … "Maybe I can find something in the books of your library. I have not been over all available volumes that mention potions."

"I didn't mean it that way, I just … bollocks," Harry sighed. "This is hard. We want what's best for him but …"

"But his journals are private." Draco continued the sentence. "They are like …"

"Like diaries. Personal … nearly intimate." His opposite finished. "I don't feel particularly comfortable with the thought of us going over them more than is absolutely necessary."

With a nod, the blond agreed. "I will go to the library. This is not a life or death situation, so we have time. Uncle Sev is fine now. Maybe he will need a muscle relaxant in a few days, but this should be a standard potion, not requiring a mastery at all. So, I'm sure I will be able to come up with something that helps. I can always have him tweak it later." After a moment, he added, "Maybe we should talk to him about what we have done. That I've read his journals I mean and worked from them."

"Agreed." Harry nodded. "And we will give them back. If they are in his room, it can be his decision if he wants us to use them or not."

"Fine, but now I'll go upstairs. I'll see you later."

Looking at the clock, Harry shouted after him, "If you are not out by ten, I will come to stun you and drag you off to bed!"

"Kinky!"

With an amused huff, Harry sent the cleaned dishes back into their cupboards and brushed down the counters. Once the kitchen was spotless, he ascended to the third floor.

\--O-O--

"Sir?" As he was used to, Harry only gave a short knock before opening the door. Yet before he could barge in, he froze and closed it again. "May I come in?"

He could practically hear the eye-roll, before their patient snapped, "Yes!"

Entering, the young Auror immediately apologised, "I'm sorry, Sir. I forgot that …"

"Dat I can say … yes or no," came the somewhat muffled but still understandable reply.

The teacher Harry had had at Hogwarts would have probably elaborated on the stupidity of the master of a house, knocking on his own doors. Or how useless it was, to rouse a patient who was probably sleeping for a simple errand. But after everything they had been through, the 'boy who lived' was incredibly grateful for even such a short, monosyllabic answer. So, he merely tilted his head, "Essentially."

Claiming the armchair beside the bed, he inquired, "How was your day with Emilia?"

"Stren…," Severus started, but when he tripped over the word, he chose another, "Hard."

Chuckling, the raven-haired agreed. "I think Emilia gets off on tormenting her patients. As much as Poppy relishes in pouring nasty stuff down our throats. I think she considers that punishment for getting injured." After a heartbeat, the young Auror pleaded, wide-eyed, "But don't tell them I said that!"

"Whom?"

"Both, I guess," Harry scratched the back of his head. "Mdm Pomfrey has free access to my home and Emilia works here. I shudder to think what these witches could do if I invoked their ire."

"Wise, ch… move."

Trading a smile, the young wizard asked, "Do you need anything? I mean anything I can get for you?"

For a moment, the former spy studied the wizard who, as of now, held his life in his hands. It had not been easy for him to come to terms with his current situation, but Lily was right. Despite the many flaws Severus had always attributed to Harry James Potter, he had always known that the boy … young man did not have a selfish bone in his body. It had taken him years to realise that all the adventures the 'Chosen One' had thrown himself into had merely been his attempt to protect the people he cared about. And the painful truth was, that this was the main theme of the boy's life: to always prioritise everybody else over himself, up until the point where he had had to walk to his own death.

Harry accepting that he had to die to save them all had finally opened Severus' eyes to the man he had become. The fact that the Marauders had offered sincere apologies for all the wrongs they had heaped upon him during their time at Hogwarts, might have played a part as well. What had finally helped Severus to swallow his pride, had been James Potter's honest appeal, "Please, don't punish my son for sins I have committed. We have watched and listened, and ever since the final battle, he has tried to make up for wrongs he has never caused. Don't hurt him by throwing that back into his face. He doesn't deserve that."

Both, the dead and the living had looked at Lily after that. And while she had reached out for them both, James had been the only one able to enjoy her touch, while Severus had had to suffer the brush of the dead. "He needs you, Severus," she had shared quietly. "And you need him! The war is over, and Harry has done everything in his power to give you a chance for a normal life, while he continues his attempts to save them all. Take that, Severus. Take it. Savour it. And allow yourself to finally get to know my son."

Said son was now looking at him, open and eager; ready to provide anything his heart desired. Harry was older now, radiating self-confidence he had missed even during the last days of the war. Yet one thing had not changed: he still seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Severus wondered where that impression was coming from since Voldemort had been defeated for more than five years. Clearly, this young wizard was not where he was supposed to be in life. At least, not yet. Maybe Lily was right. Perhaps they needed each other to come out of this on top.

"Hot shocolad."

"Excuse me?" Harry's eyes went impossibly wide, and for a moment, Severus berated himself for making such a stupid request. Surely Potter would laugh his ass off in a second, due to his childish wish. But contrary to the older wizard's expectations, the boy's mouth started to mirror his eyes, until he was positively beaming, not even a hint of mockery on his face. "Oh, Sir, you have no idea, but you are in for a treat!"

"Kreacher! Emerald!"

When the two elves popped up, the young one scrambled to get onto Harry's lap, bouncing excitedly. "Emerald be serving tea? Pretty flower tea, Harry-Master-Sir?"

"Not tonight, love," the young wizard stabilised her since she was known to topple right down. "Kreacher, I want you to teach Emerald the recipe for 'Remus Special'. But double the milk, please."

Studying his master and then the patient, the elderly elf inquired, "Special, Special?"

"Well," Harry pondered, "Maybe use the muggle stuff."

"Poisoning me?" Severus inquired after the elves had vanished.

"The opposite, in fact," the raven-haired smiled broadly. "The 'Remus Special' is something Andromeda and I invented not long after …"

"After." The man finished for him when the boy seemed reluctant to continue.

"Yes. After! Remus was always exceptionally fond of chocolate, so we experimented with a few recipes for hot chocolate. Basically, it is whole milk cooked with dark chocolate, cinnamon, honey and a dash of cayenne pepper. The grown-up version contains a shot of fire-whiskey. But since Emilia would most likely string me up if I got you drunk, we are substituting with muggle whiskey … or rum … I'm not entirely clear on the details when Kreacher makes it. Also, we need to tone it down a little so you won't get sick after surviving on blunt food and nutritious potions for so long."

"Much appre …," Severus started, but stopped himself just in time. "dank you."

Grinning, Harry relaxed back into the chair. "Thank me after you have tasted it. The first time, Andromeda and I came up with the final mixture, it nearly blew out my brain."

Severus raised eyebrow conveyed the challenge, without a single word. 'Bring it on!'

\--O-O--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yes," Draco admitted, "Emilia said that you are really pushing yourself and that she is worried that you will do yourself more harm than good. So, I looked into a few of Regulus old books and tweaked the formulas a little. Taking it, won't impair your ability to talk. It will just relax your throat."  
> "How … do you … know?" Severus inquired, eyes flying over the notes. He had not realised how much he had missed his potions. Even this was a welcome, and most importantly interesting, reprieve from his thoughts, that constantly circled from Harry to Lucius to ways to speed up his own recovery, before returning to Lily's son.   
> Shrugging, his godson admitted, "I drank it."  
> "Draco!" Severus bellowed, barely able to keep himself from reaching for his throat when it burned up at his outburst.  
> "It is completely safe!" The blond insisted. "I did my research, just like you taught me. Nothing in there is even remotely toxic and the reciprocal effects between the ingredients are neglectable."  
> "Still," Severus forced out, "You … could … have lost … your … voice" Growing quieter towards the end, due to the strain talking this loudly put on his throat.  
> That argument, however, was brushed away easily. "It's not as if I have a lot of need for it these days."

**Author's Note:**

> You came this far. You might as well comment.


End file.
